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L1SRA«Y 
STATE  TEACHERS   CO 
SANTA  BARBARA     C 


"  '  What  do  you  want  here.'  " 


^^FILE  No.  1 13^^ 


By  EMILE  GABORIAU 


Author  of  "THE  WIDOW  LEROUGE,"  etc.,  etc. 


Copyright,  1875,  by  James  R.  Osgood  &  Co. 


A.  L.  BURT,  PUBLISHER.  52-58  DUANE 
STREET,  NEW  YORK      ^    ^    ^    ^    ^ 


Digitized  by  tine  Internet  Archive 

in  2007  with  funding  from 

IVIicrosoft  Corporation 


http://www.archive.org/details/fileno11300gaboiala 


a?7i3  ^— — " 


FILE    NO.    113 


CHAPTER  I. 

In  the  Pd^na  evening  papers  of  Tuesday,  February  28,  1866, 
under  the  head  of  "  Local  Items/'  the  following  announce- 
ment appeared: 

*'  A  daring  robbery,  committed  against  one  of  out  most 
eminent  bankers,  M.  Andre  Fauvel,  caused  great  excitement 
this  morning  throughout  the  neighborhood  of  the  Eue  de  Pro- 
vence. 

"  The  thieves,  who  were  as  skillful  as  they  were  bold,  suc- 
ceeded in  making  an  entrance  to  the  bank,  in  forcing  the  lock 
of  a  safe  that  has  heretofore  been  considered  impregnable,  and 
in  possessing  themselves  of  the  enormous  sum  of  three  hundred 
and  fifty  thousand  francs  in  bank-notes. 

*'  The  police,  immediately  informed  of  the  robbery,  dis- 
played their  accustomed  zeal,  and  their  efforts  have  been 
crowned  with  success.  Already,  it  is  said,  P.  B.,  a  clerk  in 
the  bank,  has  been  arrested,  and  there  is  every  reason  to  hope 
that  his  accomplices  will  be  speedily  overtaken  by  the  hand  of 
justice." 

For  four  days  this  robbery  was  the  town  talk  of  Paris. 

Then  public  attention  was  absorbed  by  later  and  equally 
interesting  events;  an  acrobat  broke  his  leg  at  the  circus;  an 
actress  made  her  debut  at  a  small  theater;  and  the  item  of  the 
28  th  was  soon  forgotten. 

But  for  once  the  newspapers  were — perhaps  intentionally — 
wrong,  or  at  least  inaccurate  in  their  information. 

The  sum  of  three  hundred  and  fifty  thousand  franca  cer- 
tainly had  been  stolen  from  M.  Andre  Fauvel's  bank,  but  not 
ia  the  manner  described. 


6  FILE    NO.    113. 

A  clerk  had  also  been  arrested  on  suspicion,  but  no  decisive* 
proof  had  been  found  against  him.  This  robbery  of  unusual 
importance  remained,  if  not  inexplicable,  at  least  unexplained. 

The  following  are  the  facts  as  they  were  related  with  scrupu- 
lous exactness  at  the  preliminary  examination: 


CHAPTER  n. 

The  banking-house  of  Andre  Fauvel,  No.  87  Rue  de  Pro- 
vence, is  an  important  establishment,  and,  owing  to  its  large 
force  of  clerks,  presents  very  much  the  appearance  of  a  gov- 
ernment department. 

On  the  ground-floor  are  the  oflBces,  with  windows  opening 
on  the  street,  fortified  by  strong  iron  bars,  suflBciently  large 
and  close  together  to  discourage  all  burglarious  attempts. 

A  large  glass  door  opens  into  a  spacious  vestibule,  where 
three  or  four  office-boys  are  always  in  waiting. 

On  the  right  are  the  rooms  to  which  the  public  are  admitted, 
and  from  which  a  narrow  passage  leads  to  the  principal  cash- 
room. 

The  offices  of  the  corresponding  clerk,  book-keeper,  and 
general  accounts  are  on  the  left. 

At  the  further  end  is  a  small  court  on  which  open  seven  or 
eight  little  wicket  doors.  These  are  kept  closed,  except  on 
certain  days  when  notes  are  due;  and  then  they  are  indispen- 
sable. 

M,  Fauvel's  private  office  is  on  the  first  floor  over  the  offices, 
and  leads  into  his  elegant  private  apartments. 

This  private  office  communicates  directly  with  the  bank  by 
means  of  a  narrow  staircase,  which  opens  into  the  room  occu- 
pied by  the  head  cashier. 

This  room,  which  in  the  bank  goes  by  the  name  of  the 
"  cash  office,"  is  proof  against  all  attacks,  no  matter  how 
skillfully  planned;  indeed,  it  could  almost  withstand  a  regular 
siege,  sheeted  as  it  is  like  a  monitor. 

The  doors,  and  the  partition  where  the  wicket  doors  are  cut, 
are  covered  with  thick  sheets  of  iron;  and  a  heavy  grating 
protects  the  fire-place. 

Fastened  in  the  wall  by  enormous  iron  clamps  is  a  safe,  a 
formidable  and  fastastic  piece  of  furniture,  calculated  to  fill 
with  envy  the  poor  devil  who  easily  carries  his  fortune  in  a 
pocket-book. 

This  safe,  which  is  considered  the  masterpiece  of  the  firm 


FILE    N-0.    113.  7 

of  Becquet,  is  six  feet  in  height  and  four  and  a  half  in  width, 
made  entirely  of  wrought  iron,  with  triple  sides,  and  divided 
into  isolated  compartments  in  case  of  fire. 

The  safe  is  opened  by  an  odd  little  key,  which  is,  however, 
the  least  important  part  of  the  mechanism.  Five  movable 
steel  buttons,  upon  which  are  engraved  all  the  letters  of  the 
alphabet,  constitute  the  real  power  of  this  ingenious  safe. 

Before  inserting  the  key  mto  the  lock,  the  letters  on  the 
buttons  must  be  in  the  exact  position  in  which  they  were  placed 
when  the  safe  was  locked. 

In  M.  Fauvel's  bank,  as  everywhere,  the  safe  was  always 
closed  with  a  word  that  was  changed  from  time  to  time. 

This  word  was  known  only  to  the  head  of  the  bank  and  the 
cashier,  each  of  whom  had  also  a  key  to  the  safe. 

In  a  fortress  like  this,  a  person  could  deposit  more  diamonds 
than  the  Duke  of  Brunswick's,  and  sleep  well  assured  of  their 
safety. 

But  one  danger  seemed  to  threaten— that  of  forgetting  the 
secret  word  which  was  the  "  Open  sesame, ''  of  the  safe. 

On  the  morning  of  the  28th  of  February,  the  bank  clerks 
were  all  busy  at  their  various  desks,  about  half  yast  nine 
o'clock,  when  a  middle-aged  man  of  dark  complexion  and  mil- 
itary air,  clad  in  deep  mourning,  appeared  in  the  office  adjoin- 
ing the  ''  safe/'  and  announced  to  the  five  or  six  employes 
present  his  desire  to  see  the  cashier. 

He  was  told  that  the  cashier  had  not  yet  come,  and  his 
attention  was  called  to  a  placard  in  the  entry,  which  stated 
that  the  "  cash-room  "  was  opened  at  ten  o'clock. 

This  reply  seemed  to  disconcert  and  annoy  the  new-comer. 

*'  I  expected,"  he  said,  in  a  tone  of  cool  impertinence,  "  to 
find  some  one  here  ready  to  attend  to  my  business.  I  explained 
the  matter  to  Monsieur  Fauvel  yesterday.  I  am  Count  Louis 
de  Clameran,  an  iron  manufacturer  at  Oloron,  and  have  come 
to  draw  three  hundred  thousand  francs  deposited  in  this  bank 
by  my  late  brother,  whose  heir  I  am.  It  is  surprising  that  no 
direction  was  given  about  it." 

Neither  the  title  of  the  noble  manufacturer,  nor  his  explana- 
tions, appeared  to  have  the  slightest  effect  upon  the  clerks. 

"  The  cashier  has  not  yet  arrived,"  they  repeated,  "  and 
we  can  do  nothing  for  you." 

*'  Then  conduct  me  to  Monsieur  Fauvel.'* 

There  was  a  moment's  hesitation;  then  a  clerk  named 
Cavaillon,  who  was  writing  near  a  window,  said: 

"  The  chief  is  always  out  at  this  hour." 


&  FILE    NO.    113. 

"  Then  I  will  call  again/'  replied  M.  de  Clameran. 

And  he  walked  out,  as  he  had  entered,  without  saying 
**  Good-morning/'  or  even  touching  his  hat. 

**  Not  very  polite,  that  customer/'  said  little  Cavaillon; 
**  but  he  will  soon  be  settled,  for  here  comes  Prosper.'* 

Prosper  Bertomy,  head  cashier  of  Fauvel's  banking-house, 
was  a  tall  handsome  man,  of  about  thirty,  with  fair  hair  and 
large  dark-blue  eyes,  fastidiously  neat,  and  dressed  in  the 
height  of  the  fashion. 

He  would  have  been  very  prepossessing  but  for  a  cold,  re- 
served English-like  manner,  and  a  certain  air  of  self-sufficiency 
which  spoiled  his  naturally  bright,  open  countenance. 

"  Ah,  here  you  are!"  cried  Cavaillon.  **  Some  one  has  just 
been  asking  for  you." 

"  Who?    An  iron  manufacturer,  was  it  not?" 

"  Exactly." 

"  Well,  he  will  come  back  again.  Knowing  that  I  would 
get  here  late  this  morning,  I  made  all  my  arrangements  yes- 
terday." 

Prosper  had  unlocked  his  office  door,  and,  as  he  finished 
speaking,  entered,  and  closed  it  behind  him. 

"  Good!"  exclaimed  one  of  the  clerks,  "  there  is  a  man  who 
never  lets  anything  disturb  him.  The  chief  has  quarreled 
with  him  twenty  times  for  always  coming  too  late,  and  his  re- 
monstrances have  no  more  effect  upon  him  than  a  breath  of 
wind." 

"  And  very  right,  too:  he  knows  he  can  get  anything  he 
wants  out  of  the  chief." 

"  Besides,  how  could  he  come  any  sooner?  A  man  who  sits  up 
all  night,  and  leads  a  fast  life,  doesn't  feel  like  going  to  work 
early  in  the  n\orning.  Did  you  notice  how  very  pale  he  looked 
when  he  came  in?" 

"  He  must  have  been  playing  heavily  again.  Couturier  sayg 
he  lost  fifteen  thousand  francs  at  a  sitting  last  week." 

'*  His  work  is  none  the  worse  done  for  all  that,"  interrupted 
Cavaillon.     "  If  you  were  in  his  place — " 

He  stopped  short.  The  cash-room  door  suddenly  opened, 
and  the  cashier  appeared  before  them  with  tottering  step,  and 
a  wild,  haggard  look  on  his  ashy  face. 

"  Robbed!"  he  gasped  out;  "  I  have  been  robbed!" 

Prosper's  horrified  expression,  his  hollow  voice  and  trem- 
bling limbs  betrayed  such  fearful  suffering  that  the  clerks 
jumped  up  from  their  desks,  and  ran  toward  him.  He  almost 
dropped  into  their  arms;  he  was  sick  and  faint,  and  fell  into  a 
chair. 


PiLB  iro.  113.  9 

His  companions  surrounded  him,  and  begged  him  to  explain 
himself. 

"  Robbedl'*  they  said;  "  where,  how,  by  whom?" 

Gradually,  Prosper  recovered  himself. 
~     "All  the  money  I  had  in  the  a?ie,'*  he  said,  "has  been 
utolen.** 

*'A11?" 

"  Yes,  all;  three  packages,  each  containing  one  hundred 
notes  of  a  thousand  francs,  and  one  package  of  fifty  thousand. 
The  four  packages  were  wrapped  in  a  sheet  of  paper,  and  tied 
together. " 

With  the  rapidity  of  lightning,  the  news  of  the  robbery 
spread  throughout  the  banking-house,  and  the  room  was  soon 
filled  with  curious  listeners. 

"Tell  us.  Prosper,'''  said  young  Cavaillon,  "did  you  find 
the  safe  broken  open?" 

"No:  It  18  Just  as  Heft  it." 

"  Weil,  then,  how,  why—" 

"  Yesterday  I  put  three  hundred  and  fifty  thousand  franca 
in  the  safe,  and  this  morning  they  are  gone.'' 

All  were  silent  except  one  old  clerk,  who  did  not  seem  to 
share  the  general  consternation. 

"  Don't  distress  yourself,  Monsieur  Bertomy,'*  he  said; 
*'  perhaps  the  chief  disposed  of  the  money.*' 

The  unhappy  cashier  started  up  with  a  look  of  relief;  he 
eagerly  caught  at  the  idea. 

"  Yes/'  he  exclaimed,  "  you  are  right;  the  chief  must  have 
taken  it." 

But,  after  thinking  a  few  minutes,  he  said,  in  a  tone  of  deep 
discouragement: 

"  No,  that  is  impossible.  During  the  five  years  that  I  have 
had  charge  of  the  safe.  Monsieur  Fauvel  has  never  opened  it 
except  in  my  presence.  Several  times  he  has  needed  money, 
and  has  either  waited  until  I  came,  or  sent  for  me,  rather  than 
touch  it  in  my  absence." 

"  Weil,"  said  Oavaillon,  "  before  despairing,  let  us  ascer- 
tain." 

But  a  messer^ger  had  already  informed  M.  Fauvel  of  th« 
disaster. 

As  Cavafllott  waa  abont  to  go  in  quest  of  him,  he  enteretj 
the  room. 

M.  Andre  Fauvel  appeared  to  be  a  man  of  fifty  inclined  to 
corpulency,  of  medium  height,  with  iron  gray  hair;  and,  like 
all  hard  workers,  he  had  a  slight  stooD. 


10  FILE    NO.    113. 

Never  did  he  by  a  single  action  belie  the  kindly  expressioi 
of  his  face. 

He  had  a  frank  air,  a  lively  intelligent  eye,  and  large,  red 
lips. 

Born  in  the  neighborhood  of  Aix,  he  betrayed,  when  ani- 
mated, a  slight  Provencal  accent  that  gave  a  peculiar  flavor  to 
his  genial  humor. 

The  news  of  the  robbery  had  extremely  agitated  him,  for  his 
usually  florid  face  was  now  quite  pale. 

"  What  is  this  I  hear?  what  has  happened?^*  he  said  to  the 
clerks,  who  respectfully  stood  aside  when  he  entered  the  room. 

The  sound  of  M.  FauveFs  voice  inspired  the  cashier  with 
the  factitious  energy  of  a  great  crisis.  The  dreaded  and  de- 
cisive moment  had  come;  he  arose,  and  advanced  toward  his 
chief. 

**  Monsieur,*'  he  began,  "  having,  as  you  know,  a  payment 
to  make  this  morning,  I  yesterday  drew  from  the  Bank  of 
France  three  hundred  and  fifty  thousand  francs.'* 

*'  Why  yesterday,  monsieur?**  interrupted  the  banker.  "  I 
think  I  have  a  hundred  times  ordered  you  to  wait  until  the  day 
of  the  payment.'* 

*'  I  know  it,  monsieur,  and  I  did  wrong  to  disobey  you.  But 
the  evil  is  done.  Yesterday  evening  I  locked  the  money  up;  it 
has  disappeared,  and  yet  the  safe  has  not  been  broken  open. " 

"  You  must  be  madl'*  exclaimed  M.  Fauvel,  **  you  are 
dreaming  I" 

These  few  words  destroyed  all  hope;  but  the  very  horror  of 
the  situation  gave  Prosper,  not  the  coolness  of  a  matured 
resolution,  but  that  sort  of  stupid,  stolid  indifference  which 
often  results  from  unexpected  catastrophes. 

It  was  with  apparent  calmness  that  he  replied: 

*'  I  am  not  mad;  neither,  unfortunately,  am  I  dreaming:  I 
am  simply  telling  the  truth." 

This  tranquillity  at  such  a  moment  appeared  to  exasperate 
M.  Fauvel.  He  seized  Prosper  by  the  arm,  and  shook  him 
roughly. 

"  Speak  I"  he  cried  out;  "  speak  I  Who  do  you  pretend  to 
say  opened  the  safe?    Answer  mel" 

"1  can  not  say.*' 

**  Ko  one  but  you  and  T  knew  the  secret  word.  So  one  bal 
you  and  myself  had  keys.** 

This  was  a  formal  accusation;  at  least,  all  the  auditors  prea» 
ent  so  understood  it. 

Yet  Prosper's  strange  calmness  never  left  him  for  an  inf 


tlL-E    NO.    113.  IJ 

Wtoit  He  quietly  released  himself  from  M.  Fi^uvel's  grasp, 
and  very  slowly  said : 

"  In  other  words,  monsieur,  I  am  the  only  person  who  conld 
have  taken  this  money/* 

"  Unhappy  wretch!" 

Prosper  drew  himself  to  his  full  height,  and,  looking  M. 
Fauvel  full  in  the  face,  added: 

"Or  you!" 

The  banker  made  a  threatening  gesture;  and  there  is  no 
knowing  what  would  have  happened  if  they  had  not  been  in- 
terrupted by  loud  and  angry  voices  at  the  entry  door. 

A  man  insisted  upon  entering,  in  spite  of  the  protestations 
of  the  errand  boys,  and  succeeded  in  forcing  his  way  in.  It 
was  M.  de  Clameran. 

The  clerks  stood  looking  on,  bewDdered,  and  motionlesa 
The  silence  was  profound,  solemn. 

It  was  easy  to  see  that  some  terrible  question,  a  question  of 
life  or  death,  was  being  weighed  by  all  these  men. 

The  iron-founder  did  not  appear  to  observe  anything  un- 
usual. He  advanced,  and  without  lifting  his  hat,  said  in  tho 
eame  impertinent  tone: 

"  It  is  after  ten  o'clock,  gentlemen." 

No  one  answered;  and  M.  de  Clameran  was  about  to  con- 
tinue, when,  turning  around,  he  for  the  first  time  saw  th« 
banker,  and  walking  up  to  him,  said: 

"Well,  monsieur,  I  congratulate  myself  upon  finding  you 
in  at  last.  I  have  been  here  once  before  this  morning,  and 
found  the  cash-room  not  opened,  the  cashier  not  arrived,  and 
you  absent. " 

"  You  are  mistaken,  monsieur;  I  was  in  my  office." 

"  At  any  rate,  I  was  told  you  were  out;  that  gentleman  over 
there  assured  me  of  the  fact." 

And  the  iron-founder  pointed  out  Cavaillon. 

"  However,  that  is  of  little  importance,"  he  went  on  to  say. 
**  I  return,  and  this  time  not  only  the  cash-room  is  closed,  bu^ 
I  am  refused  admittance  to  the  banking-house,  and  find  myself 
compelled  to  force  my  way  in.  Be  so  good  as  to  tell  mo 
whether  I  can  have  my  money." 

M.  Fauvel*s  flushed  face  turned  pale  with  anger  as  he  list- 
ened to  this  insolence;  yet  he  controlled  himself. 

"  I  would  be  obliged  to  you,  monsieur,  for  a  short  delay.** 

**  I  thought  you  told  me — " 

**  Yes,  yesterday.  But  this  morning,  this  very  instant,  1 
find  I  have  been  robbed  of  three  hundred  and  fifty  thouoand 
francs.*' 


12  FILE    NO.    113. 

M.  de  Clameran  bowed  ironically,  and  ra,id: 

"  Shall  I  have  to  wait  long?" 

**  Long  enough  for  me  to  send  to  the  bank.  ** 

Then  turning  his  back  on  the  iron-founder,  M.  Fauvel  said 
to  his  cashier: 

"  Write  and  send  as  quickly  as  possible  to  the  bank  an  ordei 
for  three  hundred  thousand  francs.  Let  the  messenger  take  a 
carriage." 

Prosper  remained  motionless. 

*'  Do  you  hear  me?'*  said  the  banker,  angrily. 

The  cashier  trembled;  he  seemed  as  if  trying  to  shake  off  a 
terrible  nightmare. 

"  It  is  useless  to  send,"  he  said,  in  a  measured  tone:  "  we 
owe  this  gentleman  three  hundred  thousand  francs,  and  we 
have  less  than  one  hundred  thousand  in  the  bank.'' 

M.  de  Clameran  evidently  expected  this  answer,  for  he  mut» 
tered: 

"Naturally." 

Although  he  only  pronounced  this  word,  his  voice,  his  man- 
ner, his  face  clearly  said: 

"  This  comedy  is  well  acted;  but  nevertheless  it  is  a  comedy, 
tnd  I  don't  intend  to  be  duped  by  it." 

Alas!  after  Pros  per 's  answer,  and  the  iron-founder's  coarse- 
ly expressed  opinion,  the  clerks  knew  not  what  to  think. 

The  fact  was,  that  Paris  had  just  been  startled  by  several 
financial  crashes.  The  thirst  for  speculation  caused  the  oldest 
and  most  reliable  houses  to  totter.  Men  of  the  most  unim- 
peachable honor  had  to  sacrifice  their  pride,  and  go  from  door 
to  door  imploring  aid. 

Credit,  that  rare  bird  of  security  and  peace,  rested  with 
none,  but  stood  with  upraised  wings,  ready  to  fly  off  at  the  first 
rumor  of  suspicion. 

Therefore,  this  idea  of  a  comedy  arranged  beforehand  be- 
tween the  banker  and  his  cashier,  might  readily  occur  to  the 
minds  of  people  who,  if  not  suspicious,  were  at  least  aware  of 
ftil  the  expedients  resorted  to  by  speculators,  in  order  to  gaiii 
time,  which  with  them  often  meant  salvation. 

M.  Fauvel  had  had  too  much  experience  not  to  instantly 
divine  the  impression  produced  by  Prosper's  answer;  he  read 
the  most  mortifying  doubt  on  the  faces  around  him. 

**  Oh!  don't  be  alarmed,  monsieur,"  said  he  to  M.  de  Clame- 
ran; "  this  house  has  other  resources.  Be  kind  enough  to 
pwait  my  return. " 

He  left  tkiQ  room,  went  up  the  narrow  steps  leading  to  his 


FILE    NO.    113.  13 

atady,  und  in  a  few  minutes  returned,  holding  in  his  hand  a 
letter  and  a  bundle  of  securities. 

*'  Here,  quick.  Couturier!"  he  said  to  one  of  his  clerks, 
*'  take  my  carriage,  which  is  waiting  at  the  door,  and  go  with 
monsieur  to  Monsieur  de  Eothschild's.  Hand  him  this  letter 
and  these  securities;  in  exchange  you  will  receive  three  hun- 
dred thousand  francs,  which  you  will  hand  to  this  gentleman." 

The  iron-founder  was  visibly  disappointed;  he  seemed  desir- 
ous of  apologizing  for  his  impertinence. 

"  I  assure  you,  monsieur,  that  I  had  no  intention  of  giving 
offense.  Our  relations  for  some  years  have  been  such  that  I 
hope — ** 

Enough,  monsieur,"  interrupted  the  banker,  '*  I  desire  no 
apologies.  In  business,  friendship  counts  for  nothing.  I  owe 
you  money;. I  am  not  ready  to  pay;  you  are  pressing;  you 
nave  a  perfect  right  to  demand  what  is  your  own.  Follow  my 
clerk;  he  will  pay  you  your  money. " 

Then  he  turned  to  his  clerks  who  stood  curiously  gazing  on, 
and  said: 

"  As  for  you,  gentlemen,  be  kind  enough  to  resume  your 
desks. " 

In  an  instant  the  room  was  cleared  of  every  one  except  the 
clerks  who  belonged  there;  and  they  sat  at  their  desks  with 
their  noses  almost  touching  the  paper  before  them,  as  if  too 
absorbed  in  their- work  to  think  of  anything  else. 

Still,  excited  by  the  events  so  rapidly  succeeding  each  other, 
M.  Andre  Fauvel  walked  up  and  down  the  room  with  quick, 
nervous  steps,  occasionally  uttering  some  low  exclamation. 

Prosper  remained  leaning  against  the  door,  with  pale  face 
and  fixed  eyes,  looking  as  if  he  had  lost  the  faculty  of  think- 
ing. 

Finally  the  banker,  af  fcer  a  long  silence,  stopped  short  before 
Prosper;  he  had  determined  upon  the  line  of  conduct  he  would 
pursue. 

"We  must  have  an  explanation,"  he  said.  "Let  us  go 
into  your  office.*' 

The  cashier  mechanically  obeyed  without  a  word;  and  his 
chief  followed  him,  taking  the  precaution  to  close  the  door 
after  them. 

The  cash-room  bore  no  evidences  of  a  successful  burglary. 
Everything  was  in  perfect  order;  not  even  a  paper  was  mis- 
placed. 

The  safe  was  open,  and  on  the  top  shelf  lay  several  rouleaua 
of  gold,  overlooked  or  disdained  by  the  thieves, 

M.  Fauvel,  without  troubling  himself  to  examine  anything, 


U  fiLt  HO.  118. 

took  a  seat,  and  ordered  his  cashier  to  do  the  same.  He  had 
entirely  recovered  his  equanimity,  and  his  coantenance  wore 
it*  usual  kind  expression. 

**  Now  that  we  are  alone.  Prosper,"  he  said,  "  have  you 
nothing  to  tell  me?'* 

The  cashier  started,  as  if  surprised  at  the  question.  **  Noth- 
ing, monsieur,  that  I  have  not  already  told  you.  *' 

"  "What,  nothing?  Do  you  persist  in  asserting  a  fable  so 
absurd  and  ridiculous  that  no  one  can  possibly  believe  it?  It 
is  folly!  Confide  in  me;  it  is  your  only  chance  of  salvation. 
I  am  your  employer,  it  is  true;  but  I  am  before  and  above  all 
your  friend — your  best  and  truest  friend.  I  can  not  forget  that 
m  this  very  room,  fifteen  years  ago,  you  were  intrusted  to  me 
by  your  father;  and  ever  since  that  day  have  I  had  cause  to 
congratulate  myself  on  possessing  so  faithful  and  efficient  a 
clerk.  Yes,  it  is  fifteen  years  since  you  came  to  me.  I  was 
then  just  commencing  the  foundation  of  my  fortune.  You 
have  seen  it  gradually  grow,  step  by  step,  from  almost  nothing 
to  its  present  height.  As  my  wealth  increased,  I  endeavored 
to  better  your  condition;  you,  who,  although  so  young,  are  the 
oldest  of  my  clerks.  At  each  inventory  of  my  fortune,  I  in- 
creased your  salary.*' 

Never  had  Prosper  heard  him  express  himself  in  so  feeling 
and  paternal  a  manner.  Prosper  was  silent  with  astonishment. 

"  Answer,"  pursued  M.  Fauvel;  "  have  I  not  always  been 
like  a  father  to  you?  From  the  first  day  my  house  has  been 
open  to  you;  you  were  treated  as  a  member  of  my  family. 
Madeleine  and  my  sons  looked  upon  you  as  a  brother.  But 
you  grew  weary  of  this  peaceful  life.  One  day,  a  year  ago, 
you  suddenly  began  to  shun  us,  and  since  then — " 

The  memories  of  the  past  thus  evoked  by  the  banker  seemed 
too  much  for  the  unhappy  cashier,  he  buried  his  face  in  his 
hands,  and  wept  bitterly. 

"  A  man  can  confide  everything  to  his  father  without  fear 
of  being  harshly  judged,*'  resumed  M.  Fauvel.  "  A  father  not 
only  pardons,  he  forgets.  Do  I  not  know  the  terrible  tempta- 
tions that  beset  a  young  man  in  a  city  like  Paris?  There  are 
some  inordinate  desires  before  which  the  firmest  principles 
must  give  way,  and  which  so  pervert  our  moral  sense  as  to 
render  us  incapable  of  judging  between  right  and  wrong, 
Speak,  Prosper,  speak  1" 

"  What  do  you  wish  me  to  say?" 

**  The  'iruth.  When  an  honorable  man  yields,  in  an  houi 
of  weakness,  to  temptation,  his  first  step  toward  atonement  ia 
eonfewioQ.    Say  to  me.  Yes,  I  have  been  tempted,  daezled: 


FILE    NO.    113.  15 

the  sight  of  these  piles  of  gold  turned  my  brain.    I  am  young 
I  haye  passions.  ** 
"IP    murmured  Prosper,  "I!" 

"  Poor  boy/'  said  the  banker,  sadly;  **do  you  think  I  am 
ignorant  of  the  life  you  have  been  leading  since  you  left  my 
roof  a  year  ago?  Can  you  not  understand  that  all  your  fellow- 
clerks  are  Jealous  of  you?  that  they  do  not  forgive  you  for 
earning  twelve  thousand  francs  a  year?  Never  have  you  com- 
mitted a  piece  of  folly  without  my  being  immediately  informed 
of  it  by  an  anonymous  letter.  I  can  tell  the  exact  number  of 
nights  you  have  spent  at  the  gaming-table,  and  the  amount  of 
money  you  have  squandered.  Oh,  envy  has  good  eyes  and  a 
quick  ear!  I  have  great  contempt  for  these  cowardly  denun- 
ciations, but  was  forced  not  only  to  heed  them,  but  to  make 
inquiries  myself.  It  is  only  right  that  I  should  know  what 
sort  of  a  life  is  led  by  the  man  to  whom  I  intrust  my  fortune 
and  my  honor. " 

Prosper  seemed  about  to  protest  against  this  last  speech. 

"  Yes,  my  honor,*'  insisted  M.  Fauvel,  in  a  voice  that  a 
sense  of  humiliation  rendered  still  more  vibrating.  "  Yes,  my 
credit  might  have  been  compromised  to-day  by  this  Monsieur 
de  Olameran.  Do  you  know  how  much  I  shall  lose  by  paying 
him  this  money?  And  suppose  I  had  not  had  the  securities 
which  I  have  sacrificed?  You  did  not  know  I  possessed  them/' 

The  banker  paused,  as  if  hoping  for  a  confession,  which, 
however,  did  not  come. 

'*  Come,  Prosper,  have  courage,  be  frank.  I  will  go  up- 
stairs. You  will  look  again  in  the  safe;  I  am  sure  that  in 
your  agitation  you  did  not  search  thoroughly.  This  evening  I 
will  return;  and  I  am  confident  that,  during  the  day,  you  will 
have  found,  if  not  the  three  hundred  and  fifty  thousand  francs, 
at  least  the  greater  portion  of  it;  and  to-morrow  neither  you 
nor  I  will  remember  anything  about  this  false  alarm." 

M.  Fauvel  had  risen,  and  was  about  to  leave  the  room, 
when  Prosper  arose,  and  seized  him  by  the  arm. 

"Your  generosity  is  useless,  monsieur,"  he  said,  bitterly; 
*'  having  taken  nothing  I  can  restore  nothing.  I  have  searched 
carefully;  the  bank-notes  have  been  stolen." 

"  But  by  whom,  poor  fool?     By  whom?" 
'1  "^  By  all  that  is  sacred,  I  swear  that  it  was  not  by  me." 

The  banker's  face  turned  crimson.  "  Miserable  wretchi'* 
cried  he,  "  do  you  mean  to  say  that  I  took  the  money?" 

Prosper  bowed  his  head,  and  did  not  answer. 

*' An!  it  is  thus,  then,"  said  M.  Fauvel,  unable  to  contain 
iiimself  my  longer.     "  And  vou  d»re—    Then  between  job 


10  FILE   XO.    113. 

and  me.  Monsieur  Prosper  Bertomy,  Justice  shall  decide.  God 
is  my  witness  that  I  have  done  all  I  could  to  save  you.  You  will 
have  yourself  to  thank  for  what  follows.  I  have  sent  for  the 
commissary  of  police;  he  must  be  waiting  in  my  study.  Shall 
I  call  him  down?" 

Prosper,  witli  the  fearful  resignation  of  a  man  who  aban- 
dons himself,  replied  in  a  stifled  voice: 

**  Do  as  you  will." 

The  banker  was  near  the  door,  which  he  opened,  and  after 
giving  the  cashier  a  last  searching  look,  said  to  an  oflBice  boy: 

"  Angelme,  Mk  the  commissary  of  police  to  step  down." 


CHAPTER  m. 

Lf  there  is  one  man  in  the  world  whom  no  event  can  move 
or  surprise,  who  is  always  on  his  guard  against  deceptive  ap- 
pearances, and  is  capable  of  admitting  everything  and  explain- 
ing everything,  it  certainly  is  a  Parisian  conlmissary  of  police. 

While  the  judge,  from  his  lofty  place,  applies  the  code  to 
the  facts  submitted  to  him,  the  commissary  of  police  observes 
and  watches  all  the  odious  circumstances  that  the  law  can  not 
reach.  He  is  perforce  the  confidant  of  disgraceful  details,  do- 
mestic crimes,  and  tolerated  vices. 

If,  when  he  entered  upon  his  office,  he  had  any  illusions,  be- 
fore the  end  of  a  year  they  were  all  dissipated. 

If  he  does  not  absolutely  despise  the  human  race,  it  is  be- 
cause often,  side  by  side  with  abominations  indulged  in  with 
impunity,  he  discovers  sublime  generosities  which  remain  un- 
rewarded. 

He  sees  impudent  scoundrels  filching  public  respect;  and  he 
consoles  himself  by  thinking  of  the  modest,  obscure  heroes 
whom  he  has  also  encountered. 

So  often  have  his  previsions  been  deceived,  that  he  has 
leached  a  state  of  complete  skepticism.  He  believes  in  noth- 
ing, neither  in  evil  nor  in  absolute  good;  not  more  in  virtue 
than  in  vice. 

His  experience  has  forced  him  to  come  to  the  sad  conclusion, 
fchat  not  men,  but  events,  are  worth  considering. 

The  commissary  sent  for  by  M.  Fauvel  soon  made  his  ap» 
pearance. 

It  was  with  a  calm  air,  if  not  one  of  perfect  indifference, 
that  he  entered  the  offibe. 

He  was  followed  by  a  short  man  dressed  in  a  full  suit  ol 
blacky  Thich  wcs  slightly  r«lieved  by  a  crumpled  collar. 


PILE   NO.   113.  17 

The  banker,  scarcely  bowing  to  him,  said: 

"  Doubtless,  monsieur,  you  have  been  apprised  of  the  pftin» 
ful  circumstance  which  compels  me  to  have  recourse  to  youi 
assistance?^' 

"  It  is  about  a  robbery,  I  believe.'* 

"  Yes;  an  infamous  and  mysterious  robbery  committed  in 
this  office,  from  the  safe  you  see  open  there,  of  which  mjf 
cashier  "  (he  pointed  to  Prosper)  "  alone  possesses  the  key  and 
the  word.'' 

This  declaration  seemed  to  arouse  the  unfortunate  cashier 
from  his  dull  stupor. 

*'  Excuse  me,  monsieur,"  he  said,  to  the  commissary,  in  a 
low  tone.     "  My  chief  also  has  the  word  and  the  key.'* 

**  Of  course  that  is  understood." 

The  commissary  at  once  drew  his  own  conclusions. 

Evidently  these  two  men  accused  each  other. 

From  their  own  statements,  one  or  the  other  was  guilty. 

One  was  the  head  of  an  important  bank;  the  other  was  C 
simple  cashier. 

One  was  tlie  chief;  the  other  was  the  clerk. 

But  the  commissary  of  police  was  too  well  skilled  in  conceal- 
ing his  impressions  to  betray  his  thoughts  by  any  outward  sign. 
Not  a  muscle  of  his  face  moved. 

But  he  became  more  grave,  and  alternately  watched  the 
cashier  and  M.  Fauvel,  as  if  trying  to  draw  some  profitable 
conclusion  from  their  behavior. 

Prosper  was  very  pale  and  dejected.  He  had  dropped 
into  a  seat,  and  his  arms  hung  inert  on  either  side  of  the 
chair. 

The  banker,  on  the  contrary,  remained  standing,  with  flash- 
ing eyes  and  crimson  face,  expressing  himself  with  extraordi- 
nary violence. 

'  And  the  importance  of  the  theft  is  immense,"  continued  M. 
Fauvel;  "  they  have  taken  a  fortune — three  hundred  and  iifty 
thousand  francs.  This  robbery  might  have  had  the  most  dis- 
astrous consequences.  In  times  like  these,  the  want  of  this 
Bum  might  compromise  the  credit  of  the  wealthiest  banking- 
house  in  Paris. " 

"  I  believe  so,  if  notes  fall  due." 

"  Well,  monsieur,  I  had  this  very  day  a  heavy  payment  to 
make.*' 

"  Ah,  really!"  ^ 

There  was  no  mistaking  the  commissary's  tone;  &  suspicioa 
the  first,  had  evidently  entered  his  mind. 

The  banket  understood  it;  he  started,  and  said  quickly? 


18  FILE    NO.    lis. 

**  I  met  the  demand,  but  at  the  cost  of  a  disagreeable  sacri« 
fice.  I  ought  to  add  further,  that,  if  my  orders  had  been 
obeyed,  the  three  hundred  and  fifty  thousand  francs  would  not 
have  been  in.*' 

*'  How  is  that?" 

**  I  never  desire  to  have  large  sums  of  money  in  my  housa 
over  night.  My  cashier  had  positive  orders  to  wait  always  un- 
til the  last  moment  before  drawing  the  money  from  the  Bank 
of  France.  1  above  all  forbade  him  to  leave  money  in  the  safe- 
over  night.  ** 

"  You  hear  this?*'  said  the  commissary  to  Prosper. 

"  Yes,  monsieur,**  replied  the  cashier,  '*  Moncxcur  Fauvel*a 
statement  is  quite  correct.** 

After  this  explanation,  the  suspicions  of  the  commissary,  in- 
utead  of  being  strengthened,  were  dissipated. 

"  Well,'*  he  said,  "  a  robbery  has  been  perpetrated,  but  by 
whom?     Did  the  robber  enter  from  without?** 

The  banker  hesitated  a  moment. 

*'  I  think  not,*'  he  said,  at  last. 

**  And  I  am  certain  he  did  not,*'  said  Prosper. 

The  commissary  expected  and  was  prepared  for  those  an- 
ewers;  but  it  did  not  suit  his  purpose  to  follow  them  up  imme- 
diately. 

"  However,** said  he,  "  we  must  make  ourselves  sure  of  it.'* 
Turning  toward  his  companion: 

"  Monsieur  Fanferlot,"  he  said,  "  go  and  see  if  you  can  not 
discover  some  traces  that  may  have  escaped  the  attention  of 
these  gentlemen.** 

M.  Fanferlot,  nicknamed  **  the  squirrel,**  was  indebted  to 
his  prodigious  agility  for  this  title,  of  which  he  was  not  a  little 
proud.  Slim  and  insignificant  in  appearance  he  might,  in 
spite  of  his  iron  muscles,  be  taken  for  a  bailiff's  under  clerk, 
as  he  walked  along,  buttoned  up  to  the  chin  in  his  thin  black 
overcoat.  He  had  one  of  those  faces  that  impress  us  disagree- 
ably— an  odiously  turned- up  nose,  thin  lips,  and  little  restleaa ' 
black  eyes. 

Fanferlot,  who  had  been  on  the  police  force  for  five  years, 
burned  to  distinguish  himself,  to  make  for  himself  a  name. 
He  was  ambitious.  Alas!  he  was  unsuccessful,  lacking  oppor- 
tunity— or  genius. 

Already,  before  the  commissary  spoke  to  him,  he  had  ferreted 
everywhere;  studied  the  doors,  sounded  the  partitions,  exam- 
ined f  he  wicket,  and  stirred  up  the  ashes  in  the  fire-place. 

"  1  car.  not  imagine,**  said  he,  *'  how  9>  stranger  could  hav5 
effected  an  entrance  heix>*' 


FILE   NO.    113.  19 

He  walked  around  the  office. 

*'  Is  this  door  closed  at  night?"  he  inqaired. 

"  It  is  always  locked. " 

"And  who  keeps  the  key?" 

**  The  office-boy,  to  whom  I  always  give  it  in  charge  before 
leaving  the  bank,"  said  Prosper. 

"  This  boy/'  said  M.  Fauvel,  "  sleeps  in  the  outer  room  on 
a  sofa-bedstead,  which  he  unfolds  at  night,  and  folds  up  in  the' 
morniHg."  : 

"  Is  he  here  now?"  inquired  the  commissary. 

"  Yes,  monsieur,"  answered  the  banker. 

He  Oldened  the  door  and  called: 

*'  Anselme!" 

This  boy  was  the  favorite  servant  of  M.  Fauvel.  and  had 
lived  with  him  for  ten  years.  He  knew  that  he  would  not  be 
suspected;  but  the  idea  of  being  connected  in  any  way  with  a 
robbery  is  terrible,  and  be  entered  the  room  trembling  like  a 
leaf. 

"  Did  you  sleep  in  the  next  room  last  night?"  asked  the 
commissary. 

"  Yes,  monsieur,  as  usual." 

*'  At  what  hour  did  you  go  to  bed?" 

"  About  half  past  ten;  I  had  spent  the  evening  at  a  caf6 
near  by,  with  monsieur's  valef 

"  Did  you  hear  no  noise  during  the  night?'* 

"  Not  a  sound;  and  still  I  sleep  so  lightly  that,  if  monsieur 
comes  down  to  the  cash-room  when  I  am  asleep,  I  am  instantly 
»wakened  by  the  sound  of  his  footsteps." 

"  Monsieur  Fauvel  often  comes  to  the  cash-room  at  night, 
does  her" 

*'  No,  monsieur;  very  seldom." 

"  Did  he  come  last  night?" 

"  No,  monsieur;  I  am  very  certain  he  did  not;  for  I  was 
kept  awake  nearly  all  night  by  the  strong  cofiee  I  had  drunk 
vith  the  valet." 

"  That  will  do;  you  can  retire,*'  said  the  commissary. 

When  Anselme  had  left  the  room,  Fanferlot  resumed  his 
search. 

He  opened  the  door  of  the  private  staircase. 

"  Where  do  these  stairs  lead  to?"  he  asked. 

**  To  my  private  office,"  replied  M.  Fauvel. 

*'  Is  not  that  the  room  whither  I  was  fjonducted  when  I  first 
crime?"  inquired  the  commisfft^' 

"  The  same," 


to  FILB    KO.    113. 

**  I  would  like  to  see  it,**  said  Fanferlofc,  *'  and  examine  the 
entrances  to  it." 

*'  Nothing  is  more  easy/'  said  M.  Fauvel,  eagerly;  "  follow 
me,  gentlemen.     And  you  come  too.  Prosper. " 

M.  Fauvers  private  office  consisted  of  two  rooms;  the  wait- 
ing-room, sumptuousl}"^  furnished  and  beautifully  decorated, 
and  the  study  where  he  transacted  business.  The  furniture  in 
this  room  was  composed  of  a  large  office-desk,  several  leather- 
covered  chairs,  and,  on  either  side  of  the  fire-place,  a  secretary 
and  a  book-shelf. 

These  two  rooms  had  only  three  doors:  one  opened  on  the 
private  stairway,  another  into  the  banker's  bedroom,  and  the 
third  into  the  main  vestibule.  It  was  through  this  last  door 
that  the  banker's  clients  and  visitors  were  admitted. 

M.  Fanferlot  examined  the  study  at  a  glance.  He  seemed 
puzzled  like  a  man  who  had  flattered  himself  with  the  hope  of 
discovering  some  indication  and  had  found  nothing. 

*'  Let  us  see  the  adjoining  room,"  he  said. 

He  passed  into  the  waiting-room,  followed  by  the  banker 
and  the  commissary  of  police. 

Prosper  remained  alone  in  the  study. 

Despite  the  disordered  state  of  his  mind,  he  could  not  but 
perceive  that  his  situation  was  momentarily  becoming  more 
serious. 

He  had  demanded  and  accepted  the  contest  with  his  chief; 
the  struggle  had  commenced;  and  now  it  no  longer  depended 
upon  his  own  will  to  arrest  the  consequences  of  his  action. 

They  were  about  to  engage  in  a  bitter  conflict,  utilizing  all 
weapons,  until  one  of  the  two  should  succumb,  the  loss  of  honor 
being  the  cost  of  defeat. 

In  the  eyes  of  Justice^  who  would  be  the  innocent  man? 

Alas!  the  unfortunate  cashier  saw  only  too  clearly  that  the 
chances  were  terribly  unequal,  and  was  overwhelmed  with  the 
sense  of  his  own  inferiority. 

Never  had  he  thought  that  his  chief  would  carry  out  his 
threats;  for,  in  a  contest  of  this  nature,  M.  Fauvel  would  have 
as  much  to  risk  as  his  cashier,  and  more  to  lose. 

He  was  sitting  near  the  fire-place,  absorbed  in  the  most 
gloomy  forebodings,  when  the  banker's  chamber  door  suddenly 
opened,  and  a  beautiful  girl  appeared  upon  the  threshold. 

She  was  tall  and  slender;  a  loose  morning-gcwn,  confined  at 
the  waist  by  a  simple  black  ribbon,  betrayed  to  advantage  the 
graceful  elegance  o^  heu*  figure.  Her  black  eyes  were  large  and 
soft;  her  complexion  had  the  creamy  pallor  of  a  white  camellia? 
ac*d  her  beautiful  dark  hair,  carelessly  held  together  by  a  tor' 


FILE   KO.   IT&.  81 

fcoise-sliell  comb,  fell  in  a  profusion  of  soft  curls  upon  her  ex. 
quisifce  neck.  She  was  Madeleine,  M.  Fauvel's  niece,  of  whora 
fie  had  spoken  not  long  before. 

Seeing  Prosper  in  the  study,  where  probably  she  expected  to 
find  her  uncle  alone,  she  could  not  refrain  from  an  exclamation 
of  surprise. 

Prosper  started  np  as  if  he  had  received  an  electric  shock. 
His  eyes,  a  moment  before  so  dull  and  heavy,  now  sparkled 
with,  joy  as  if  he  had  caught  a  glimpse  of  a  messenger  of  hope. 

"  Madeleine,"  he  gasped,  "  Madeleine!'* 

The  young  girl  was  blushing  crimson.  She  seemed  about  to 
hastily  retreat,  and  stepped  back,  but.  Prosper  having  ad- 
A'anced  toward  her,  she  was  overcome  by  a  sentiment  stronger 
than  her  will,  and  extended  her  hand,  which  he  seized  and 
pressed  with  much  agitation. 

They  stood  thus  face  to  face,  but  with  averted  looks,  as  if 
they  dared  not  let  their  eyes  meet  for  fear  of  betraying  their 
feelings;  having  much  to  say,  and  not  knowing  how  to  begin, 
they  stood  silent. 

Finally  Madeleine  murmured  in  a  scarcely  audible  voice: 

"  You,  Prosper — you!'* 

These  words  broke  the  spell.  The  cashier  dropped  the  white 
liand  which  he  held,  and  answered,  bitterly: 

*'  Yes,  this  is  Prosper,  the  companion  of  your  childhood- 
suspected,  accused  of  the  most  disgraceful  theft;  Prosper, 
whom  your  uncle  has  just  delivered  up  to  justice,  and  who, 
before  the  day  is  over,  will  be  arrested,  and  thrown  into  prison." 

Madeleine,  with  a  terrified  gesture,  cried  in  a  tone  of 
anguish: 

"  Good  heavens!    Prosper,  what  are  you  saying?" 

"  What,  mademoiselle!  do  you  not  know  what  has  hap- 
pened?   Have  not  your  aunt  and  cousins  told  you?" 

"  They  have  told  me  nothing.  I  have  scarcely  seen  my 
cousins  this  morning;  and  my  aunt  is  so  ill  that  I  felt  uneasy, 
and  came  to  tell  uncle.  But  for  Heaven's  sake  speak:  tell  me 
the  cause  of  your  distress. " 

Prosper  hesitated.  Perhaps  it  occurred  to  him  to  open  hii 
heart  to  Madeleine,  of  revealing  to  her  his  most  secret 
thoughts,  A  remembrance  of  the  past  chilled  his  confidence. 
He  sadly  shook  his  head,  and  replied: 

**  Thanks,  mademoiselle,  for  this  proof  of  interest,  the  last 
doubtless,  that  I  shall  ever  receive  from  you;  but  allow  me,  by 
being  silent,  to  spare  you  distress,  and  myself  the  mortifies 
tiou  of  bioshinf  before  you.'' 


22  PILE  NO.  113. 

Madeleine  interrupted  him  imperiously: 

*' I  insist  upon  knowing.'* 

"  Alas,  mademoiselle!"  answered  Prosper,  "yonvillonlj 
too  soon  learn  my  misfortune  and  my  disgrace;  then,  yes,  thea 
you  will  applaud  yourself  for  what  you  have  done.** 

But  she  became  more  urgent;  instead  of  commanding,  she 
entreated;  but  Prosper  was  inflexible. 

"  Your  uncle  is  in  the  adjoining  room,  mademoiselle,  with 
the  commissary  of  police  and  a  detective.  They  will  soon  re- 
turn. I  entreat  you  to  retire  that  they  may  not  find  you 
here.** 

As  he  spoke  he  gently  pushed  her  through  the  door,  and 
closed  it  upon  her. 

It  was  time,  for  the  next  moment  the  commissary  and  M. 
Fauvel  entered.  They  had  visited  the  main  entrance  and 
waiting-room,  and  had  heard  nothing  of  what  had  passed  io 
the  study. 

But  Fanferlot  had  heard  for  them. 

This  excellent  blood-hound  had  not  lost  sight  of  the  cashier. 
He  said  to  himself,  "  Now  that  my  young  gentleman  believes 
himself  to  be  alone,  his  face  will  betray  him.  I  shall  detect  a 
smile  or  a  wink  that  will  enlighten  me.** 

Leaving  M.  Fauvel  and  the  commisary  to  pursue  their  in- 
Testigations,  he  posted  himself  to  watch.  He  saw  the  door 
open,  and  Madeleine  appear  upon  the  threshold;  he  lost  not  a 
single  word  or  gesture  of  the  rapid  scene  which  had  passed. 

It  mattered  little  that  every  word  of  this  scene  was  an 
enigma.  M.  Fanferlot  was  skillful  enough  to  complete  the 
sentences  he  did  not  understand. 

As  yet  he  only  had  a  suspicion;  but  a  mere  suspicion  is  bet- 
ter than  nothing;  it  is  a  point  to  start  from.  So  prompt  was 
he  in  building  a  plan  upon  the  slightest  incident,  that  he 
thought  he  saw  in  the  past  of  these  people  who  were  utter 
strangers  to  him  glimpses  of  a  domestic  drama. 

If  the  commissary  of  police  is  a  skeptic,  the  detective  has 
faith;  he  believes  in  evil. 

*'  I  understand  the  case  now,"  said  he,  to  himself.  *'  This 
man  loves  the  young  lady,  who  is  really  very  pretty;  and,  as  he 
is  quite  handsome,  I  suppose  his  love  is  reciprocated.  This  love 
affair  vexes  the  banker,  who,  not  knowing  how  to  get  rid  of  the 
importunate  lover  by  fair  means,  has  to  resort  to  foul,  and 
plans  this  imaginary  robbery,  which  is  very  ingenious." 

Thus  to  M.  Fanferlot's  mind,  the  banker  had  simply  robbed 
himself,  and  the  innocent  cashier  was  tht\  victim  of  an  odioM 
maohinatN/M. 


piLB  iro.  lis.  23 

But  this  conviction  was,  at  present,  of  little  service  to  Pros- 
jper. 

Fanferlot,  the  ambitious  man,  who  had  determined  to  oh« 
tain  renown  in  his  profession,  decided  to  keep  his  conjectures 
to  himself. 

*'  I  will  let  the  others  go  their  way,  and  I'll  go  mine,*'  he 
said.  "  When,  by  dint  of  close  watching  and  patient  investiga- 
tion, I  shall  have  collected  proof  sufficient  to  insure  certain  con- 
viction, I  will  unmask  the  scoundrel/' 

He  was  radiant.  He  had  at  last  found  the  crime  so  long 
looked  for,  which  would  make  him  celebrated.  Nothing  waa 
wanting,  neither  the  odious  circumstances,  nor  the  mystery, 
nor  even  the  romantic  and  sentimental  element  represented 
by  Prosper  and  Madeleine. 

Success  seemed  difficult,  almost  impossible,  but  Fanferlot, 
the  "  squirrel,"  had  great  confidence  in  his  own  genius  for  in- 
vestigation. 

Meanwhile,  the  search  upstairs  completed,  M.  Fauvel  and 
the  commissary  returned  to  the  room  were  Prosper  was  waiting 
for  them. 

The  commissary,  who  had  seemed  so  calm,  when  he  first 
came,  now  looked  grave  and  perplexed.  The  moment  for  tak- 
ing a  decisive  part  had  come,  yet  it  was  evident  that  he  hesi- 
tated. 

*'  You  see,  gentlemen,"  he  began,  "  our  search  has  only 
confirmed  our  first  suspicion.*' 

M.  Fauvel  and  Prosper  bowed  assentingly. 

*'  And  what  do  you  think.  Monsieur  Fanferlot?"  continued 
the  commissary. 

Fanferlot  did  not  answer. 

Occupied  in  studying  the  safe-lock,  he  manifested  signs  of  a 
lively  surpiise.  Evidently  he  had  just  made  an  important  dis- 
covery. 

M.  Fauvel,  Prosper,  and  the  commissary  rose,  and  sur* 
rounded  him. 

"  Have  you  discovered  any  trace?"  said  the  banker,  eagerly. 

Fanferlot  turned  around  with  a  vexed  air.  He  reproached 
himself  for  not  having  concealed  his  impressions. 

"Oh!"  said  he,  carelessly,  "I  have  discovered  nothing  ol 
importance. " 

"  But  we  should  like  to  know,"  said  Prosper. 

**  I  have  merely  convinced  myself  that  this  safe  has  been  re- 
cently opened  or  shut,  I  know  not  which,  with  great  violencf 
ind  haste." 

"  Why  so?"  asked  the  commissarv,  becoming  attenthre. 


H  piLB  NO.  iia 

"  Look,  monsienr,  at  this  scratch  near  the  lock." 

The  commissary  stooped  down,  and  carefully  examined  thtt 
lafe;  he  saw  a  light  scratch  several  inches  long  that  had  re« 
moved  the  outer  coat  of  varnish. 

**  I  see  the  scratch,"  said  he,  "  but  what  does  that  prove?** 

**  Oh,  nothing  at  all!'*  said  Fanferlot.  '*  I  just  now  told 
you  it  was  of  no  importance.** 

Fanferlot  said  this,  but  it  was  not  his  real  opinion. 

This  scratch,  undeniably  fresh,  had  for  him  a  signification 
that  escaped  the  others.  He  said  to  himself,  *'  This  confirms 
my  suspicions.  If  the  cashier  had  stolen  millions,  there  was 
no  occasion  for  his  being  in  a  hurry;  whereas  the  banker  creep- 
ing down  in  the  dead  of  the  night  with  cat-like  footsteps,  for 
fear  of  awakening  the  boy  in  the  anteroom,  in  order  to  rifle 
his  own  money  safe,  had  every  reason  to  tremble,  to  hurry,  to 
hastily  withdraw  the  key,  which,  slipping  along  the  lock, 
scratched  off  the  varnish.  *' 

Eesolved  to  unravel  by  himself  the  tangled  thread  of  this 
mystery,  the  detective  determined  to  keep  his  conjectures  to 
himself;  for  the  same  reason  he  was  silent  as  to  the  interview 
which  he  had  overheard  between  Madeleine  and  Prosper. 

He  hastened  to  withdraw  attention  from  the  scratch  upon 
the  lock. 

"  To  conclude,"  he  said,  addressing  the  commissary,  **  I  am 
convinced  that  no  one  outside  of  the  bank  could  have  obtained 
access  to  this  room.  The  safe,  moreover,  is  intact.  No  suspi- 
cious pressure  has  been  used  on  the  movable  buttons.  I  can 
assert  that  the  lock  has  not  been  tampered  with  by  burglar's 
tools  or  false  keys.  Those  who  opened  the  safe  knew  the 
word,  and  possessed  the  key.** 

This  formal  afiirmation  of  a  man  whom  he  knew  to  be  skill- 
ful,  ended  the  hesitation  of  the  commissary. 

*'  That  being  the  case,**  he  replied,  '*  I  must  request  a  few 
moments'  conversation  with  Monsieur  Fauvel.*' 

*'  I  am  at  your  service,**  said  the  banker. 

Prosper  foresaw  the  result  of  this  conversation.  He  quietly 
placed  his  hat  on  the  table,  to  show  that  he  had  no  intention 
of  attempting  to  escape,  and  passed  into  the  adjoining  room. 

Fanferlot  also  went  out,  but  not  before  the  commissary 
had  made  him  a  sign,  and  received  one  in  return. 

This  sign  signifioi,  **  You  are  responsible  for  this  man." 

The  detective  ne^ed  no  admonition  to  make,  him  keep  a 
etnct  watch.  His  suspicions  were  too  vague,  his  desire  for 
success  was  too  ardent,  for  him  to  lose  sight  of  Prosper  an  ia 


FILE   NO.   113.  88 

Cloaely  following  the  cashier,  he  seated  himself  in  a  dark 
corner  of  the  room,  and,  pretending  to  be  sleepy,  he  fixed  him- 
self in  a  comfortable  position  for  taking  a  nap,  gaped  until 
his  jaw-bone  seemed  about  to  be  dislocated,  then  closed  hia 
eyes,  and  kept  perfectly  quiet. 

Prosper  took  a  seat  at  ;he  desk  of  an  absent  clerk.  The 
others  were  burning  to  know  tlie  result  of  the  investigation; 
their  eyes  shone  with  curiosity,  but  they  dared  not  ask  a  ques- 
tion. 

Unable  to  restrain  himself  any  longer  little  Cavaillon,  Pros- 
per's  defender,  ventured  to  say: 

"  Weil,  who  stole  the  money?" 

Prosper  slirugged  his  shoulders, 

"  Nobody  linows,''  he  replied. 

Was  this  conscious  innocence  or  hardened  recklessness? 
The  clerks  observed  with  bewildered  surprise  that  Prosper  had 
resumed  his  usual  manner — that  sort  of  icy  haughtiness  that 
kept  people  at  a  distance,  and  made  him  so  unpopular  in  the 
bank. 

Save  the  death-like  pallor  of  his  face,  and  the  dark  circles 
around  his  swelled  eyes,  he  bore  no  tracer  of  the  pitiable  agita- 
tion he  had  exhibited  a  short  time  before. 

Never  would  a  stranger  entering  the  room  have  supposed 
that  this  young  man,  idly  lounging  in  a  chair,  and  toying  with 
a  pencil,  was  resting  under  an  accusation  of  robbery,  and  was 
about  to  be  arrested. 

He  soon  stopped  played  with  the  pencil,  and  drew  toward 
him  a  sheet  of  paper  upon  which  he  hastily  wrote  a  few  lines. 

*'  Ah,  ha!''  thought  Fanferlot  the  "  squirrel,"  whose  hear- 
ing and  sight  were  wonderfully  good  in  spite  of  his  profound 
sleep,  **eh!  eh!  he  makes  his  little  confidential  communica- 
tion on  paper,  I  see;  now  we  will  discover  something  positive." 

His  note  wrtiten.  Prosper  folded  it  carefully  in  the  smallest 
possible  size,  and  after  furtively  glancing  toward  the  detective, 
who  remained  motionless  in  his  corner,  threw  it  across  the 
desk  to  little  Cavaillon  with  this  one  word: 

"  Gipsy!" 

All  this  was  so  quickly  and  skillfully  done  that  Fanferlot  was 
confounded,  and  began  to  feel  a  little  uneasy. 

*'  The  devil  take  him!"  said  he  to  himself;  **  for  a  suffer- 
ing innocent;  this  young  dandy  has  mo:e  pluck  and  nerve  than 
many  of  my  oldest  customers.  This,  however,  shows  the  result 
of  education!"' 

Yes;  innocent  or  guilty.  Prosper  must  have  been  endowed 
•Vith  great  self-control  and  power  of  dissimulation  to  affeci 


i6  PILE    KO.    113. 

this  pref;ence  of  mind  at  a  time  when  h^  honor,  his  fntare 
happmess,  all  that  he  held  dear  in  life,  were  at  stake.  And 
he  was  only  thirty  years  old. 

Either  from  natural  deference,  or  from  the  hope  of  gaining 
some  ray  of  light  by  a  private  conversation,  the  commissary 
determined  to  speak  to  the  banker  before  acting  decisively. 

**  There  is  not  a  shadow  of  doubt,  monsieur,*'  he  said  aa 
80on  as  they  were  alone,  "  this  young  man  has  robbed  you. 
It  would  be  a  gross  neglect  of  duty  if  I  did  not  secure  hia 
person.  The  law  will  decide  whether  he  shall  be  released, 
dr  sent  to  prison." 

This  declaration  seemed  to  distress  the  banker. 

He  sunk  into  a  chair,  and  murmured; 

*'  Poor  Prosper!" 

Seeing  the  astonished  look  of  his  listener,  he  added: 

"  Until  to-day,  monsieur,  I  have  always  had  the  most  im- 
plicit faith  in  his  honesty,  and  would  have  unhesitatingly  con- 
fided my  fortune  to  his  keeping.  Almost  on  my  knees  have  I 
besought  and  implored  him  to  confess  thaf  in  a  moment  of  des- 
peration he  had  taken  the  money;  promismg  him  pardon  and 
forgetfulness;  but  I  could  not  move  him.  I  have  loved  him; 
and  even  now,  in  spite  of  the  trouble  and  humiliation  that  he 
is  bringing  upon  me,  I  can  not  bring  myself  to  feel  harshly 
toward  him. 

The  commissary  looked  as  if  he  did  not  understand. 

*'  What  do  you  mean  by  humiliation,  monsieur?*' 

*'  What!"  said  M.  Fauvel,  excitedly,  "  is  not  justice  the 
same  for  all?  Because  I  am  the  head  of  a  bank,  and  he  only 
a  clerk,  does  it  follow  that  my  word  is  more  to  be.  relied  upon 
than  his?  Why  could  I  not  have  robbed  myself?  Such  things 
have  been  done.  They  will  ask  me  for  facts;  and  I  shall  be 
compelled  to  expose  the  exact  situation  of  my  house,  explain 
my  affairs,  disclose  the  secret  and  method  of  my  operations. " 

"  It  is  true,  monsieur,  that  you  will  be  called  upon  for  some 
explanation;  but  your  well-known  integrity — " 

Alas!  He  was  honest  too.  His  integrity  has  never  betn 
doubted.  Who  would  have  been  suspected  this  morning  if  I 
had  not  been  able  to  instantly  produce  a  hundred  thousund 
crowns?  Who  would  be  suspected  if  I  could  not  prove  that 
my  assets  exceed  my  liabilities  by  more  than  three  millions?" 

To  a  strictly  honorable  man,  the  thought,  the  possibility  ot 
enspicion  tarnishing  his  fair  name,  is  cruel  suffering.  Tha 
banker  suffered,  and  the  commissary  of  pohco  saw  it,  and  felt 
for  kirn. 

"  he  calm,  monaiear,''  said  he;  *'  before  the  end  of  o  week, 


FILE    NO.    113.  27 

justice  will  have  collected  sufficient  proof  to  establish  the  guilt 
of  this  unfortunate  man,  whom  we  may  now  recall.*' 

Prosper  entered  with  Fanferlot  —  whom  they  had  much 
trouble  to  awaken — and  with  the  most  stolid  indifference  list- 
ened to  the  announcement  of  his  arrest. 

In  response  he  calmly  said: 

*'  I  swear  that  I  am  innocent." 

M.  Fauvel,  much  more  disturbed  and  excited  than  his 
cashier,  made  a  last  attempt. 

"  It  is  not  too  late  yet,  poor  boy,"  he  saidj  "  for  Heaven's 
sake  reflect — " 

Prosper  did  not  appear  to  hear  him.  He  drew  from  his 
pocket  a  small  key,  which  he  laid  on  the  table,  and  said : 

*'  Here  is  the  key  of  yonr  safe,  monsieur.  I  hope  for  my 
sake  that  you  will  some  day  be  convinced  of  my  innocence; 
and  I  hope  for  your  sake  that  the  conviction  will  not  come  too 
late." 

Then  as  every  one  was  silent,  he  resumed: 

*'  Before  leaving  I  hand  over  to  you  the  books,  papers,  and 
accounts  necessary  for  my  successor.  I  must  at  the  same  time 
inform  you  that,  without  speaking  of  the  stolen  three  hundred 
and  fifty  thousand  francs,  I  leave  a  deficit  in  cash." 

*'A  deficit!**  thought  the  commissary:  "  how,  after  this, 
can  his  guilt  be  doubted?  Before  stealing  the  whole  contents 
of  the  safe,  he  has  kept  his  hand  in  by  occasional  small 
thefts.*' 

*'A  deficit!*'  said  the  detective  to  himself;  ''now,  no 
doubt,  the  very  innocence  of  this  poor  devil  gives  his  conduct 
an  appearance  of  great  depravity;  were  he  guilty,  he  would 
have  replaced  the  first  money  by  a  portion  of  the  second." 

The  grave  importance  of  Prosper 's  statement  was  consider- 
ably diminished  by  the  explanation  he  proceeded  to  make: 

"  There  is  a  deficit  of  three  thousand  five  hundred  francs  on 
my  cash  account,  which  has  been  disposed  of  in  the  following 
manner:  two  thousand  taken  by  myself  in  advance  of  my  sal- 
ary; fifteen  hundred  advanced  to  several  of  my  fellow-clerks. 
This  is  the  last  day  of  the  mouth;  to-morrow  the  salaries  will 
be  paid,  consequently — " 

The  commissary  interrupted  him. 

"  "Were  you  authorized  to  draw  money  whenever  you  wished 
to  advance  the  clerks'  pay?" 

*'  No;  but  I  knew  that  Monsieur  Fauvel  would  not  have  re- 
fused me  permission  to  oblige  my  friends  in  the  bank.  What 
I  did  is  done  everywhere;  I  have  simply  followed  my  predeces' 
eor's  example." 


28  PiiiB  KO.  113. 

The  banker  made  a  sign  of  assent. 

**  As  regards  that  spent  by  myself/'  continued  the  cashier, 
**  I  had  a  sort  of  right  to  it,  all  of  my  savings  being  deposited 
in  this  bank;  about  fifteen  thousand  francs. 

"  That  is  true,*'  said  M.  Fauvel;  "  Monsieur  Bertomy  haa 
at  least  that  amount  on  deposit. " 

This  last  question  settled,  the  commissary's  errand  was  over, 
and  his  report  might  now  be  made.  He  announced  his  inten- 
tion of  leaving,  and  ordered  the  cashier  to  prepare  to  follow 
him. 

Usually,  this  moment,  when  stern  reality  stares  us  in  the 
face,  when  our  individuality  is  lost  and  we  feel  that  we  are  be- 
ing deprived  of  our  liberty — this  moment  is  terrible. 

At  this  fatal  command,  "  Follow  me,"  which  brings  before 
our  eyes  the  yawning  prison  gates,  the  most  hardened  sinner 
feels  his  courage  fail,  and  abjectly  begs  for  mercy. 

But  Prosper  lost  none  of  that  studied  phlegm  which  the 
commissary  secretly  pronounced  consummate  impudence. 

Slowly,  with  as  much  careless  ease  as  if  going  to  breakfast 
with  a  friend,  he  smoothed  his  hair,  drew  on  his  overcoat  and 
gloves,  and  said,  politely: 

"  I  am  ready  to  accompany  you,  monsieur. " 

The  commissary  folded  up  his  pocket-book,  and  bowed  to 
M.  Fauvel,  saying  to  Prosper: 

"Come!" 

They  left  the  room,  and  with  a  distressed  face,  and  eyes 
filled  with  tears  that  he  could  not  restrain,  the  banker  stood 
watching  their  retreating  forms. 

"Good  Heaven!"  he  exclaimed;  "gladly  would  I  give 
twice  that  sum  to  regain  my  old  confidence  in  poor  Prosper, 
and  be  able  to  keep  him  with  me!" 

The  quick-eared  Fanferlot  overheard  these  words,  and 
prompt  to  suspicion,  and  ever  disposed  to  impute  to  others  the 
deep  astuteness  peculiar  to  himself,  was  convinced  they  had 
been  uttered  for  his  benefit. 

He  had  remained  behind  the  others,  under  pretext  of  look- 
ing for  an  imaginary  umbrella,  and,  as  he  reluctantly  depart- 
ed, said  he  would  call  in  again  to  see  if  it  had  been  found. 

It  was  Fanferlot's  task  to  escort  Prosper  to  prison;  but,  as 
they  were  about  starting,  he  asked  the  commissary  to  leave 
him  at  liberty  to  pursue  another  course,  a  request  which  his 
Buperior  granted. 

Fanferlot  had  resolved  to  obtain  possession  of  Prosper's 
note,  which  he  knew  to  be  in  Cavaillon's  pocket. 

To  obtain  this  written  proof,  which  must  be  an  important 


PILE  NO.  113.  29 

one,  appeared  the  easiest  thing  in  the  world.  He  had  simply 
to  arrest  Oavaillon,  frighten  him,  demand  the  letter,  and,  if 
necessary,  take  it  by  force. 

But  to  what  would  this  disturbance  lead?  To  nothing,  un- 
less it  were  an  incomplete  and  doubtful  result. 

Fanferlot  was  convinced  that  the  note  was  intended,  not  for 
the  young  clerk,  but  for  a  third  person. 

If  exasperated,  Oavaillon  might  refuse  to  divulge  who  this 
person  was,  who,  after  all,  might  not  bear  the  name  "  Gipsy  " 
given  by  the  cashier.  And,  even  if  he  did  answer  his  ques- 
tions, would  he  not  lie? 

After  mature  reflection,  Fanferlot  decided  that  it  would  be 
superfluous  to  ask  for  a  secret  when  it  could  be  surj)rised.  To 
quietly  follow  Cavaillon,  and  keep  close  watch  on  him  until  he 
caught  him  in  the  very  act  of  handing  over  the  letter,  was  but 
play  for  the  detective. 

This  method  of  proceeding,  moreover,  was  much  more  m 
keeping  with  the  character  of  Fanferlot,  who,  being  Cjaturally 
soft  and  stealthy,  deemed  it  due  to  his  profession  to  avoid  all 
disturbance  or  anything  resembling  violence. 

Fanferlot's  plan  was  settled  when  he  reached  the  vestibule. 

He  began  talking  with  an  office-boy,  and,  after  a  few  ap- 
parently idle  questions,  had  discovered  that  the  Fauvel  bank 
had  no  outlet  on  the  Bue  de  la  Victoire,  and  that  consequently 
all  the  clerks  were  obliged  to  pass  in  and  out  through  the  main 
entrance  on  the  Eue  de  Provence. 

From  this  moment  the  task  he  had  undertaken  no  longer 
presented  a  shadow  of  difficulty.  He  rapidly  crossed  the  street 
and  took  up  his  position  under  a  gate-way. 

His  post  of  observation  was  admirably  chosen;  not  only 
could  he  see  every  one  who  entered  and  came  out  of  the  bank, 
but  also  commanded  a  view  of  all  the  windows,  and  by  stand- 
ing on  tiptoe  could  look  through  the  grating,  and  see  Cavail- 
lon bending  over  his  desk. 

Fanferlot  waited  a  long  time,  but  did  not  wax  impatient; 
for  he  had  often  had  to  remain  on  watch  entire  days  and 
nights  at  a  time,  with  much  less  important  objects  in  view 
than  the  present  one.  Besides,  his  mind  was  busily  occupied 
in  estimating  the  value  of  his  discoveries,  weighing  his 
chances,  and,  like  Perrette  with  her  pot  of  milk,  building  the 
foundation  of  his  fortune  upon  present  success. 

Finally,  about  one  o'clock,  he  saw  Cavaillon  rise  from  hia 
desk,  change  his  coat,  and  take  down  his  hat. 

*'  Very  good!"  he  exclaimed,  "  my  man  is  coming  out;  J 
must  keep  my  eyes  open.' ' 


80  ITLE    KO.    113. 

The  next  moment  Cavaillon  appeared  at  the  door  of  the 
bank;  but  before  stepping  on  the  pavement  he  looked  up  and 
down  the  street  in  an  undecided  manner. 

"  Can  he  suspect  anything?"  thought  Fanferlot. 

No,  the  young  clerk  suspected  nothing;  only  having  a  com- 
mission to  execute,  and  fearing  his  absence  would  be  observed, 
he  was  debating  with  himself  which  would  be  the  shortest  road 
for  him  to  take. 

He  soon  decided,  entered  the  Faubourg  Montmartre,  and 
walked  up  the  Eue  Notre  Dame  de  Lorette  so  rapidly,  utterly 
regardless  of  the  grumbling  passers-by  whom  he  elbowed  out 
of  his  way,  that  Fanferlot  found  it  difficult  to  keep  him  in 
sight. 

Reaching  the  Rue  Chaptal,  Cavaillon  suddenly  stopped,  and 
entered  the  house  numbered  39. 

He  had  scarcely  taken  three  steps  in  the  narrow  corridor 
when  he  felt  a  touch  on  his  shoulder,  and  turning  abruptly, 
found  himself  face  to  face  with  Fanferlot. 

He  recognized  him  at  once,  and  turning  very  pale,  ho 
shrunk  back,  and  looked  around  for  means  of  escape. 

But  the  detective,  anticipating  the  attempt,  barred  the 
passage-way.     Cavaillon  saw  that  he  was  fairly  caught. 

"  What  do  you  want  with  me?*'  he  asked,  in  a  voice  trem- 
ulous with  fright. 

Fanferlot  was  distinguished  among  his  confreres  for  his  ex- 
quisite suavity  and  unequaled  urbanity.  Even  with  his  pris- 
oners he  was  the  perfection  of  courtesy,  and  never  was  known 
to  handcuff  a  man  without  first  obsequiously  apologizing  for 
being  compelled  to  do  so. 

"You  will  be  kind  enough,  my  dear  monsieur,*' he  said, 
**  to  excuse  the  great  liberty  I  take;  but  I  really  am  under  the 
necessity  of  asking  you  for  a  little  information.** 

*'  Information!     From  me,  monsieur?'* 

"  From  you,  my  dear  monsieur;  from  Monsieur  Eugene 
Cavaillon. " 

"  But  I  do  not  know  you.** 

"  Ah,  yes,  you  remember  seeing  me  this  morning.  It  is 
only  about  a  trifling  matter,  and  you  will  overwhelm  me  with 
obligations  if  you  will  do  me  the  honor  to  accept  my  arm  and 
step  outside  for  a  moment.  *' 

What  could  Cavaillon  do?  He  took  Fanferlot's  arm,  and 
went  out  with  him. 

The  Rue  Chaptal  is  not  one  of  those  noisy  thoroughfares 
where  foot-passengers  are  in  perpetual  danger  of  being  run 
OTer  by  numberless  vehicles  dashing  to  and  fro;  there  were  but 


FILE    NO.    113.  31 

two  or  taree  shops,  and  from  the  corner  of  the  Rue  Fontaine 
occupied  by  an  apothecary,  to  the  entrance  of  the  Rue  Leonie, 
extended  a  high,  gloomy  wall,  broken  here  and  there  by  a  small 
window  which  lighted  the  carpenters'  shops  behind. 

It  was  one  of  those  streets  where  you  could  walk  at  your 
ease,  without  having  to  step  from  the  sidewalk  every  moment. 
So  Fanferlot  and  Cavaillon  were  in  no  danger  of  being  dis- 
turbed by  passers-by. 

"  What  I  wished  to  say  is,  my  dear  monsieur/'  began  the 
detective,  "  that  Monsieur  Prosper  Bertomy  threw  you  a  note 
this  morning. '^ 

Cavaillon  vaguely  foresaw  that  he  was  to  be  questioned 
about  this  note,  and  instantly  put  himself  on  his  guard. 

"  You  are  mistaken,"  he  said,  blushing  to  his  ears. 

"  Excuse  me,  monsieur,  for  presuming  to  contradict  you, 
but  I  am  quite  certain  of  what  I  say." 

"  I  assure  you  that  Prosper  never  gave  me  anything. '' 

"  Pray,  monsieur,  do  not  persist  in  a  denial;  you  will  compel 
me  to  prove  that  four  clerks  saw  him  throw  you  a  note  written 
in  pencil  and  closely  folded."' 

Cavaillon  saw  the  folly  of  further  contradicting  a  man  so 
well  informed;  so  he  changed  his  tactics,  and  said: 

"It  is  true  Prosper  gave  me  a  note  this  morning;  but  it 
was  intended  for  me  alone,  and  after  reading  it,  I  tore  it  up, 
and  threw  the  pieces  in  the  fire." 

This  might  be  the  truth.  Fanferlot  feared  so;  but  how 
could  he  assure  himself  of  the  fact?  He  remembered  that  the 
most  palpable  tricks  often  succeed  the  best,  and,  trusting  to 
his  star,  he  said,  at  hazard : 

'-  Permit  me  to  observe  that  this  statement  is  not  correct; 
the  note  was  intrusted  to  you  to  give  to  Gipsy. " 

A  despairing  gesture  from  Cavaillon  apprised  the  detective 
that  he  was  not  mistaken :  he  breathed  again. 

"I  swear  to  you,  monsieur — "  began  the  young  man. 

"Do  not  swear,  monsieur,"  interrupted  Fanferlot:  "all 
the  oaths  in  the  world  would  houseless.  You  not  only  pre  ^ 
served  the  note,  but  you  came  to  this  house  for  tiie  purpose  of 
giving  it  to  Gipsy,  and  it  is  in  your  pocket  now. " 

*'  No,  monsieur,  no!" 

Fanferlot  paid  no  attention  to  this  denial,  but  continued  in 
his  gentlest  tone: 

"  And  I  am  sure  you  will  be  kind  enough  to  give  it  to  mej 
feelieve  me,  nothing  but  the  most  absolute  necessity — " 

"  Never!"  exclaimed  Cavaillon;  and,  believing  the  moment 


52  PILE    NO.    113. 

lavorable,  he  suddenly  attempted  to  jerk  his  arm  from  undef 

Fanferlot's,  and  escape. 

But  his  efforts  were  vain;  the  detective's  strength  was  equal 
to  his  suavity. 

**  Don^t  hurt  yourself,  young  man/'  he  said,  "  but  take 
my  aivice  and  quietly  give  up  the  letter. " 

"  I  have  not  got  it." 

**  Very  well;  see,  you  reduce  me  to  painful  extremities..  If 
you  persist  in  being  so  obstinate,  I  shall  call  two  policemen, 
who  will  take  you  by  each  arm,  and  escort  you  to  the  commis- 
sary of  police;  and,  once  there,  I  shall  be  under  the  painful 
necessity  of  searching  your  pockets,  whether  you  will  or  not." 

Oavaillon  was  devoted  to  Prosper,  and  willing  to  make  any 
sacrifice  in  his  behalf;  but  he  clearly  saw  that  it  was  worse  than 
useless  to  struggle  any  longer,  as  he  would  have  no  time  to 
destroy  the  note.  To  deliver  it  under  force  was  no  betrayal; 
but  he  cursed  his  powerlessness,  and  almost  wept  with  rage. 

"  I  am  in  your  power,"  he  said,  and  then  suddenly  drew 
from  his  pocket-book  the  unlucky  note,  and  gave  it  to  the  de- 
tective. 

Fanferlot  trembled  with  pleasure  as  he  unfolded  the  paper; 
yet,  faithful  to  his  habits  of  fastidious  politeness,  before  read- 
mg  it,  he  bowed  to  C  avail  Ion,  and  said: 

"  You  will  permit  me,  will  you  not,  monsieur?"  Then  he 
read  as  follows: 

**  Dear  Niis^a, — If  you  love  me,  follow  my  instructions  in- 
stantly, without  a  moment's  hesitation,  without  asking  any 
questions.  On  the  receipt  of  this  note,  take  everything  you 
have  in  the  house,  absolutely  everything,  and  establish  your- 
self in  furnished  rooms  at  the  other  end  of  Paris.  Do  not  ap- 
pear in  public,  but  conceal  yourself  as  much  as  possible.  My 
life  may  depend  on  your  obedience. 

"  I  am  accused  of  an  immense  robbery,  and  am  about  to  be 
arrested.  Take  with  you  five  hundred  francs  which  you  will 
find  in  the  secretary. 

"  Leave  your  address  with  Oavaillon,  who  will  explain  what 
I  have  not  time  to  tell.  Be  hopeful,  whatever  happens.  Good- 
bye. Peospee." 

Had  Oavaillon  been  less  bewildered,  he  would  have  seen 
blank  disappointment  depicted  on  the  detective's  face  after  the 
perusal  of  the  note. 

Fanferlot  had  cherished  the  hope  that  he  was  about  to  pos- 
sess a  very  important  document,  which  would  clearly  prove 


FILE    NO.    113.  33 

the  guilt  or  innocence  of  Prosper;  whereas  he  had  only  seized 
a  love-letter  written  by  a  man  who  was  evidently  more  anx- 
ious about  the  welfare  of  the  woman  he  loved  than  about  hia 
own. 

Vainly  did  he  puzzle  over  the  letter,  hoping  to  discover 
some  hidden  meaning;  twist  the  words  as  he  would,  they 
proved  nothing  for  or  against  the  writer. 

The  two  words  "  absolutely  everything  "  were  underscored, 
it  is  true;  but  they  could  be  interpreted  in  so  many  ways. 

The  detective,  however,  determined  not  to  drop  the  matte;? 
here. 

"  This  Madame  Nina  Gipsy  is  doubtless  a  friend  of  Mon* 
sieur  Prosper  Bertomy?^' 

"  She  is  his  particular  friend.*' 

"  Ah,  I  understand;  and  she  lives  here  at  No.  39?" 

"  You  know  it  well  enough,  as  you  saw  me  go  in  there. " 

*'  I  suspected  it  to  be  the  house,  monsieur;  now  tell  mo 
whether  the  apartments  she  occupies  are  rented  in  her  name.  ■" 

*'  No.     Prosper  rents  them." 

**  Exactly;  and  which  floor,  if  you  please?" 

"Onthe«rst." 

During  this  colloquy,  Fanferlot  had  folded  up  the  note,  and 
clipped  it  into  his  pocket. 

"A  thousand  thanks,  monsieur,  for  the  information;  and, 
in  return,  I  will  relieve  you  of  the  trouble  of  executing  your 
commission.*' 

"  Monsieur!" 

"  Yes,  with  your  permission,  I  will  myself  take  this  note  to 
Madame  Nina  Gipsy." 

Cavaillon  began  to  remonstrate;  but  Fanferlot  cut  him 
short  by  saying: 

"  I  will  also  venture  to  give  you  a  piece  of  advice.  Return 
quietly  to  your  business,  and  have  nothing  more  to  do  with 
this  affair." 

"But  Prosper  is  a  good  friend  of  mine,  and  has  saved  me 
from  ruin  more  than  once." 

"  Only  the  more  reason  for  your  keeping  quiet.  You  can 
not  be  of  the  slightest  assistance  to  him,  and  I  can  tell  you 
that  you  may  be  of  great  injury.  As  you  are  known  to  be  his 
devoted  friend,  of  course  your  absence  at  this  time  will  be  re- 
marked upon.  Any  steps  that  you  take  in  this  maatter  will 
receive  the  worst  interpretation. " 

"  Prosper  is  innocent,  I  am  sure.  ** 

Fanferlot  was  of  the  same  opinion,  but  he  had  no  idea  of 
betraying  his  private  thoughts;  and  yet  for  the  success  of  his 


84  FILE    NO.    113. 

investigations  it  was  necessary  to  impress  the  importance  of 
prudence  and  discretion  upon  the  young  man;  he  would  have 
told  him  to. keep  silent  concerning  what  had  passed  between 
them,  but  he  dared  not. 

*'  What  you  say  may  be  true,*'  he  said.  "  I  hope  it  is,  for 
the  sake  of  Monsieur  Bertomy,  and  on  your  own  account,  too; 
for,  if  he  is  guilty,  you  will  certainly  be  very  much  annoyed, 
and  perhaps  suspected  of  complicity,  as  you  are  well  known  to 
be  intimate  with  him.'* 

Cavaillon  was  overcome. 

*'  Now,  you  had  best  take  my  advice,  monsieur,  and  return 
to  your  business,  and —     Good-morning,  monsieur." 

The  poor  fellow  obeyed.  Slowly  and  with  swelling  heart  ho 
returned  to  the  Rue  Notre  Dame  de  Lorette.  He  asked  him* 
self  how  he  could  serve  Prosper,  warn  Mme.  Gipsy,  and,  above 
all,  have  his  revenge  upon  this  odious  detective,  who  had  just 
made  him  suffer  cruel  humiliation. 

He  had  no  sooner  turned  the  corner  of  the  street,  than  Fan- 
ferlot  entered  No.  39,  gave  his  name  to  the  porter  as  Prosper 
Bertomy,  went  upstairs,  and  knocked  at  the  first  door  he  came 
to. 

It  was  opened  by  a  youthful  fcotman,  dressed  in  the  most 
fanciful  livery. 

"  Is  Madame  Gipsy  at  home?" 

The  groom  hesitated;  seeing  this,  Fanferlot  showed  his  note, 
and  said: 

"  Monsieur  Prosper  told  me  to  hand  this  note  to  madame, 
and  wait  for  an  answer.'* 

"  Walk  in,  and  I  will  let  madame  know  you  are  here.** 

The  name  of  Prosper  produced  its  effect.  Fanferlot  was 
ushered  into  a  little  room  furnished  in  blue  and  gold  silk  dam^ 
ask.  Heavy  curtains  darkened  the  windows,  and  hung  in 
front  of  the  doors.  The  floor  was  covered  with  a  blue  velvet 
carpet. 

"Our  cashier  was  certainly  well  lodged,**  murmuxcd  the 
detective. 

But  he  had  no  time  to  pursue  his  inventory.  One  of  the 
door  curtains  was  pushed  aside,  and  Mme.  Nina  Gipsy  stood 
before  him- 

Mme.  Gipsy  was  quite  young,  small,  and  graceful,  with  a 
brown  or  rather  gold-colored  quadroon  complexion,  and  the 
hands  and  feet  of  a  child. 

Long  curling  silk  lashes  softened  the  piercing  brilliancy  of 
iier  large  black  eyes;  her  lips  were  full,  and  her  teeth  wer« 
very  white. 


FILE    KO.    113.  33 

She  had  not  yet  made  her  toilet,  but  wore  a  velvet  dressing- 
•wrapper,  which  did  not  conceal  the  lace  ruffles  beneath.  But 
fihe  had  already  been  under  the  hands  of  a  hair-dresser. 

Her  hair  was  curled  and  frizzed  high  on  her  forehead,  and 
confined  by  narrow  bands  of  red  velvet;  her  black  hair  was 
rolled  in  an  immense  coil,  and  held  by  a  beautiful  gold  comb. 

She  was  ravishing.  Her  beauty  was  so  startling  that  the 
dazzled  detective  was  speechless  with  admiration, 

"  Well,"  he  said  to  himself,  as  he  remembered  the  noble, 
severe  beauty  of  Madeleine,  whom  he  had  seen  a  few  hourd 
previous,  "  our  young  gentleman  certainly  has  good  taste — • 
very  good  taste — two  perfect  beauties!*' 

While  he  thus  reflected,  perfectly  bewildered,  and  wonder- 
ing  how  he  could  begin  the  conversatiou,  Mme.  Gipsy  eyed 
him  with  the  most  disdainful  surprise;  she  was  waiting  for  this 
shabby  little  man  in  a  threadbare  coat  and  greasy  hat  to  ex- 
plain his  presence  in  her  dainty  parlor. 

She  had  many  creditors,  and  was  recalling  them,  and 
wondering  which  one  had  dared  to  send  this  man  to  wipe  his 
dusty  boots  on  her  velvet  carpets. 

After  scrutinizng  him  from  head  to  foot  with  undisguised 
contempt,  she  said,  haughtily: 

"  What  do  you  want?" 

Any  one  but  Fanferlot  would  have  been  offended  at  her  in- 
solent manner;  but  he  only  noticed  it  to  gain  some  notion  of 
the  young  woman's  disposition. 

"  She  is  bad-tempered,"  he  thought,  "  and  is  uneducated.** 

While  he  was  speculating  upon  her  merits,  Mme.  Nina  im- 
patiently tapped  her  little  foot,  and  waited  for  an  answer; 
finally  she  said: 

"  Why  don't  you  speak?    What  do  you  want  here?'* 

"  I  am  charged,  my  dear  madame,"  he  answered,  in  his 
softest  tone,  "  by  Monsieur  Bertomy,  to  give  you  this  note." 

"  From  Prosper!    You  know  him  then?" 

*'  I  have  that  honor,  madame;  indeed,  I  may  be  so  bold  as 
to  claim  him  as  a  friend.  *' 

"  Monsieur!  You  a  friend  of  Prosper!**  exclaimed  Mme. 
Gipsy,  in  a  scornful  tone,  as  if  her  pride  were  wounded. 

Fanferlot  did  not  condescend  to  notice  this  offensive  ex- 
clamation. He  was  ambitious,  and  contempt  failed  to  irritate 
him. 

"  I  said  a  friend  of  his,  madame;  and  there  are  few  people 
"who  would  have  the  courage  to  claim  friendship  for  him  now." 

Mme.  Gipsy  was  struck  by  the  words  and  manner  of  Fan- 
ferlot. 


d6  FILE    XO.    113. 

"  I  never  could  guess  riddles/'  she  said,  tartly;  "  you  will 
oe  kind  enough  to  explain  what  you  mean?'' 

The  detective  slowly  drew  Prosper's  note  from  his  pocket, 
and,  with  a  bow,  presented  it  to  Mme.  Gipsy. 

"  Read,  madame,"  he  said. 

Sh«  certainly  anticipated  no  misfortune;  although  her  sight 
was  excellent,  she  stopped  to  fasten  a  tiny  gold  eyeglass  on 
her  nose,  then  carelessly  opened  the  note. 

At  a  glance  she  read  its  contents. 

She  turned  very  red,  then  very  pale;  she  trembled  as  if  with 
a  nervous  chill;  her  limbs  seemed  to  give  way,  and  she  tot- 
tered so  that  Fanferlot,  thinking  she  was  about  to  fall,  ex- 
tended his  arms  to  catch  her. 

Useless  precaution!  Mme.  Gipsy  was  one  of  those  women 
whose  inert  listlessness  conceals  indomitable  energy;  fragile- 
looking  creatures  whose  powers  of  endurance  and  resistance 
are  unlimited;  cat-like  in  their  soft  grace  and  delicacy, 
especially  cat-like  in  their  nerves  and  muscles  of  steel. 

The  dizziness  caused  by  the  shock  she  had  received  quickly 
passed  off.  She  tottered,  but  did  not  fall,  and  stood  up  look- 
ing stronger  than  ever;  seizing  the  wrist  of  the  detective,  sh& 
held  it  as  if  her  delicate  little  hand  were  a  vise,  and  cried  out: 

*'  Explain  yourself!  what  does  all  this  mean?  Do  you 
know  anything  about  the  contents  of  this  note?" 

Although  Fanferlot  betrayed  courage  in  daily  contending 
with  the  most  dangerous  rascals,  he  was  positively  terrified  by 
Mme.  Gipsy. 

"  Alasr'  he  murmured. 

*'  Prosper  is  to  be  arrested,  accused  of  being  a  thief?" 

"  Yes,  madame,  he  is  accused  of  taking  three  hundred  and 
fifty  thousand  francs  from  the  bank-safe.'* 

"It  is  false,  infamous,  absurd!"  she  cried.  She  had 
dropped  Fanferlot' s  hand;  and  her  fury,  like  that  of  a  spoiled 
child,  found  vent  in  violent  actions.  She  tore  her  web-like 
handkerchief,  and  the  maginficent  lace  on  her  gown,  to  shreds. 

"  Prosper  steal !"  she  cried;  "what  a  stupid  ideal  Why 
should  he  steal?    Is  he  not  rich?" 

"  Monsieur  Bertomy  is  not  rich,  madame;  he  has  nothing 
but  his  salary." 

This  answer  seemed  to  confound  Mme.  Gipsy. 

**  But,"  she  insisted,  "  I  have  always  seen  him  have  plenty 
of  money;  not  rich — then — " 

She  dared  not  finish;  but  her  eye  met  Fanferlot 's,  and  they 
understood  each  other. 

Mme.  Ijina'g  look  meant: 


FILE    NO.    113.  37 

"  He  committed  this  robbery  in  order  to  gratify  my  extrav- 
ngant  whims. '^ 

Fanferlot's  glance  answered: 

"  Very  likely,  madame.'' 

A  few  minutes^  reflection  convinced  Nina  that  her  first  im- 
pression was  the  correct  one.  Doubt  fled  after  hovering  for 
an  instant  over  her  agitated  mind. 

"  No!''  she  cried,  "  I  regret  to  say  that  Prosper  would 
never  have  stolen  one  cent  for  me.  One  can  understand  a  man 
robbing  a  bank  to  obtain  means  of  bestowing  pleasure  and 
luxury  upon  the  woman  he  loves;  but  Prosper  does  not  love 
me,  he  never  has  loved  me. " 

"  Oh,  fair  lady!''  protested  the  gallant  and  insinuating 
Fanferlot,  "  you  surely  can  not  mean  what  you  say." 

Her  beautiful  eyes  filled  with  tears,  as  she  sadly  shook  her 
head  and  said : 

"  I  mean  exactly  what  I  say.  It  is  only  too  true.  He  is 
ready  to  gratify  my  every  wish,  you  may  say;  what  does  that 
prove?  Nothing,  I  am  too  well  convinced  that  he  does  not 
iove  me.  I  know  what  love  is.  Once  I  was  beloved  by  an 
affectionate,  true-hearted  man;  and  my  own  sufilerings  of  the 
last  year  make  me  know  how  miserable  I  must  have  made  him 
by  my  cold  return.  Alas!  we  must  suffer  ourselves  before  we 
can  feel  for  others.  No,  I  am  nothing  to  Prosper;  he  would 
not  care  if — " 

"  But,  then,  madame,  why — " 

*'  Ah,  yes,"  interrupted  Nina,  "  why?  you  will  be  very  wise 
if  you  can  answer  me.  For  a  year  have  I  vainly  sought  an 
answer  to  this  question,  so  sad  to  me.  I,  a  woman,  can  not 
answer  it;  and  I  defy  you  to  do  so.  You  can  not  discover  the 
thoughts  of  a  man  so  thoroughly  master  of  himself  that  never 
is  a  single  thought  passing  in  his  mind  to  be  detected  upon  his 
countenance.  I  have  watched  him  as  only  a  woman  can  watch 
the  man  upon  whom  her  fate  depends,  but  it  has  always  been 
in  vain.  He  is  kind  and  indulgent;  but  he  does  not  betray 
himself,  never  will  he  commit  himself.  Ignorant  people  call 
him  weak,  yielding;  I  tell  you  that  fair-haired  man  is  a  rod  of 
iron  painted  like  a  reed!" 

Carried  away  by  the  violence  of  her  feelings,  Mme.  Nina  be- 
trayed her  inmost  thoughts.  She  was  without  distrust,  never 
suspecting  that  the  stranger  listening  to  her  was  other  than  a 
friend  of  Prosper. 

As  for  Fanferlot,  he  congratulated  himself  upon  his  success. 
No  one  but  a  woman  could  have  drawn  him  so  excellent  a 
portrait;  in  a  moment  of  excitement  she  had  given  him  the 


88  FILE    NO.    113. 

most  valuable  information;  he  now  knew  the  nature  of  the 
man  with  whom  he  had  to  deal,  which  in  an  investigation  like 
that  he  was  pursuing  is  the  principal  point. 

"  You  know  that  Monsieur  Bertomy  gambles,'*  he  ventured 
to  say,  "  and  gambling  is  apt  to  lead  a  man — *' 

Mme.  Gipsy  shrugged  her  shoulders,  and  interrupted  him: 

"  Yes,  he  plays,*'  siie  said;  **  but  he  is  not  a  gambler.  I 
have  seen  him  lose  and  gain  large  sums  without  betraying  the 
slightest  agitation.  He  plays  as  he  drinks,  as  he  sups,  as  he 
falls  in  love — without  passion,  without  enthusiasm,  without 
pleasure.  Sometimes  he  frightens  me;  he  seems  to  drag  about 
a  body  without  a  soul.  Ali,  I  am  not  happy!  Never  have  I 
been  able  to  overcome  his  indifiference,  an  mdifiFerence  so  great, 
80  reckless,  that  I  often  think  it  must  be  despair;  nothing  will 
convince  me  that  he  has  not  some  terrible  secret,  some  great 
misfortune  weighing  upon  his  mind,  and  making  life  a  bur- 
den." 

*'  Then  he  has  never  spoken  to  you  of  his  past?** 

"  Why  should  he  tell  me?  Did  you  not  hear  me?  I  tell 
you  he  does  not  love  me!'* 

Mme.  Nina  was  overcome  by  thoughts  of  the  past,  and  tears 
silently  coursed  down  her  cheeks. 

But  her  despair  was  only  momentary.  She  started  up,  and, 
her  eyes  sparkling  with  generous  resolution,  she  cried  out: 

*'  But  I  love  him,  and  I  will  save  him  I  I  will  see  his  chief, 
the  miserable  wretch  who  dares  to  accuse  him.  I  will  haunt 
the  judges,  and  I  will  prove  that  he  is  innocent.  Come, 
monsieur,  let  us  start,  and  I  promise  you  that  before  sunset  he 
shall  be  free,  or  I  shall  be  in  prison  with  him.** 

Mme.  Gipsy's  project  was  certainly  laudable,  and  prompted 
by  the  noblest  sentiments;  but  unfortunately  it  was  imprac- 
ticable. 

Moreover,  it  would  be  going  counter  to  the  plans  of  the  de- 
tective. 

Although  he  had  resolved  to  reserve  to  himself  all  the  diffi- 
culties as  well  as  the  benefits  of  this  inquiry,  Fanferlot  saw 
clearly  that  he  could  not  conceal  the  existence  of  Mme.  Nina 
from  the  judge  of  instruction.  She  would  necessarily  be 
brought  into  the  case,  and  sought  for.  But  he  did  not  wish 
her  to  take  any  steps  of  her  own  accord.  He  proposed  to  have 
her  appear  when  and  how  he  judged  proper,  so  that  he  might 
gain  for  himself  the  merit  of  having  discovered  her. 

His  first  step  was  to  endeavor  to  calm  the  young  woman's 
excitement.  He  thought  it  easy  to  prove  to  her  that  the  least 
faterference  in  favor  of  Prosper  would  be  a  piece  of  folly. 


MLB   ITO.    113^  39 

"  What  will  you  gain  by  acting  thus,  my  dear  madaine?*' 
he  asked.  *'  Nothing.  I  can  assure  you  that  you  have  not 
the  least  chance  of  success.  Who  knows  if  you  will  not  b« 
suspected  as  Monsieur  Bertomy's  accomplice ?*' 

But  this  alarming  perspective,  which  had  frightened  Cavail- 
lon  into  foolishly  giving  up  a  letter  which  he  might  so  easily 
have  retained,  only  stimulated  Gipsy's  enthusiasm.  Man  cal- 
culates, while  woman  follows  the  inspirations  of  her  heart. 
Our  most  devoted  friend,  if  a  man,  hesitates  and  draws  back; 
if  a  woman,  rushes  undauntedly  forward,  regardless  of  the 
danger. 

*' What  matters  the  risk?"  she  exclaimed.  *' I  don't  believe 
any  danger  exists;  but,  if  it  does,  so  much  the  better;  it  will 
be  all  the  more  to  my  credit.  I  am  sure  Prosper  is  innocent; 
but,  if  he  should  be  guilty,  I  wish  to  share  tne  punishment 
which  awaits  him." 

Mme.  Gipsy's  persistence  was  becoming  alarming.  She 
hastily  drew  around  her  a  cashmere  shawl,  and,  putting  on  her 
hat,  declared  that  she  was  ready  to  walk  from  one  end  of  Paris 
to  the  other,  in  search  of  the  judge. 

"  Come,  monsieur,"  she  said  with  feverish  impatience. 
**  Are  you  not  coming  with  me?" 

Fanferlot  was  perplexed.  Happily  he  always  had  several 
strings  to  his  bow. 

Personal  considerations  having  no  hold  upon  this  impulsive 
nature,  he  resolved  to  appeal  to  her  interest  in  Prosper. 

*'  I  am  at  your  command,  fair  lady,"  he  said;  "  let  us  go  if 
you  desire  it;  only  permit  me,  while  there  is  yet  time,  to  say 
that  we  ar«  very  probably  going  to  do  great  injury  to  Monsieur 
Bertomy.  ** 

**  In  what  way,  if  you  please?" 

**  Because  we  are  taking  a  step  that  he  expressly  forbade  in 
his  letter;  we  are  surprising  him — giving  him  no  warning." 

Nina  scornfully  tossed  her  head  and  replied: 

*'  There  are  some  people  who  must  be  saved  without  warn- 
ing, against  their  will.  I  know  Prosper;  he  is  just  the  man 
to  let  himself  be  murdered  without  a  struggle,  without  speak- 
ing a  word — to  give  himself  up  through  sheer  recklessness  and 
despair." 

Excuse  me,  madame,"  interrupted  the  detective.;  *'  Mon- 
sieur Bertomy  has  by  no  means  the  appearance  of  a  man  who 
has  given  up  in  despair.  On  the  contrary,  1  think  he  has 
already  laid  nis  plan  of  defense.  By  showing  yourself,  when 
he  advised  you  to  remain  in  concealment,  you  will  be  vers 
likely  to  make  vain  his  most  careful  crecautions,'  * 


to  VILE    ISO.    113. 

Mme.  Gip^  was  silently  weighing  the  value  of  Fanferlot'l 
objections.     Finally  she  said: 

I  can  not  remain  here  inactive,  without  attempting  to 
contribute  in  some  way  to  his  safety.  Can  you  not  understand 
that  this  floor  burns  my  feet?" 

Evidently,  if  she  was  not  absolutely  convinced,  her  resolu- 
tion was  shaken.  Fanferlot  saw  that  he  was  gaining  ground, 
and  this  certainty,  maidng  him  more  at  ease,  gave  weight  to 
his  eloquence. 

"  You  have  it  in  your  power,  madame,"  he  said,  **  to  render 
a  great  service  to  the  man  you  love.  '* 

**  In  what  way,  monsieur,  in  what  way?" 

**  Obey  him,  my  child,"  said  Fanferlot,  in  a  paternal  maiv 
ner. 

Mme.  Gipsy  evidently  expected  very  different  advice. 

"  Obey,"  she  murmured — "  obey!'' 

"It  is  your  sacred  duty,''  said  Fanferlot,  with  grave  dig- 
nity— "  it  is  your  sacred  duty." 

She  still  hesitated,  and  he  took  from  the  table  Prosper'a 
note,  which  she  had  laid  there,  then  continued: 

"  What!  Monsieur  Bertomy  at  the  most  trying  moment, 
when  he  is  about  to  be  arrested,  stops  to  point  out  your  line  of 
conduct:  and  you  would  render  vain  this  wise  precaution! 
What  does  he  say  to  you?  Let  us  read  over  this  note,  which 
is  like  the  testament  of  his  liberty.  He  says,  '  If  you  love  me, 
I  entreat  you,  obey.*  And  you  hesitate  to  obey.  Then  you 
do  not  love  him.  Can  you  not  understand,  unhappy  child, 
that  Monsieur  Bertomy  has  his  reasons,  terrible,  imperious 
reasons,  for  your  remaining  in  obscurity  for  the  present?" 

Fanferlot  understood  these  reasons  the  moment  he  put  his 
foot  in  the  sumptuous  apartment  of  the  Rue  Chaptal;  and,  if 
he  did  not  expose  them  now,  it  was  because  he  kept  them  as  a 
good  general  keeps  his  reserve,  for  the  purposes  of  deciding  the 
victory. 

Mme.  Gipsy  was  intelligent  enough  to  divine  these  reasons. 

*'  Reasons  for  my  hiding!  Prosper  wishes,  then,  to  keep 
every  one  in  ignorance  of  our  intimacy. " 

She  remained  thoughtful  for  a  moment;  then  a  ray  of  light 
seemed  to  cross  her  mmd,  and  she  cried: 

*'  Oh,  I  understand  now!  Fool  that  I  was  for  not  seeing  it 
before!  My  presence  here,  where  I  have  been  for  a  year,  would 
be  an  overwhelming  charge  against  him.  An  inventory  of  my 
possessions  would  be  taken — of  my  dresses,  my  laces,  my  jewels 
—and  my  luxury  would  be  brought  against  him  as  a  crime. 


WtB  isro.  iia  4i 

He  would  be  asked  to  tell  where  lie  obtained  bo  mach  monej 
to  lavish  all  these  elegancies  on  me.*' 

The  detective  bowed,  and  said: 

*'  That  is  true,  madam e.'* 

**  Then  I  must  fly,  monsieur,  at  once!  Who  knows  that  tha 
police  are  not  already  warned,  and  may  appear  at  any  mo- 
ment?'* 

"  Oh,"  said  Fanferlot  with  easy  assurance,  **  you  have  plenty 
of  time;  the  police  are  not  so  very  prompt." 

"  No  matter!" 

And  leaving  the  detective  alone  in  the  parlor,  Mme.  Nina 
hastily  ran  into  her  bedroom,  and  calling  her  maid,  her  cook, 
and  her  little  footman,  ordered  them  to  empty  her  bureau  and 
chests  of  their  contents,  and  assisted  them  to  stuff  her  best 
clothing  and  jewels  into  her  trunks. 

Suddenly  she  rushed  back  to  Fanferlot,  and  said:  "  Every- 
thing will  be  ready  to  start  in  a  few  minutes;  but  where  am  I 
to  go?'' 

"  Did  not  Monsieur  Bertomy  say,  my  dear  lady,  to  the  other 
end  of  Paris?    To  a  hotel,  or  furnished  apartments." 

"  But  I  don't  know  where  to  find  any." 

Fanferlot  seemed  to  be  reflecting;  but  he  had  great  difficulty 
in  concealing  his  delight  at  a  sudden  idea  that  flashed  upon 
him;  his  little  black  eyes  fairly  danced  with  ioy. 

*'  I  know  of  a  hotel,"  he  said,  at  last,  "  but  it  might  not 
suit  you.     It  is  not  elegantly  furnished  like  this  room. " 

"  Would  I  be  comfortable  there?" 

'*  Upon  my  recommendation  you  would  be  treated  like  a 
queen,  and,  above  all,  concealed." 

"  Where  is  it?" 

*'  On  the  other  side  of  the  river,  Quai  Saint  Michel,  the 
Archangel,  kept  by  Madame  Alexandre." 
*     Mme.  Nina  was  never  long  making  up  her  mind. 

'*  Here  are  pen  and  paper;  write  your  recommendation." 

He  rapidly  wrote,  and  handed  her  the  letter. 

*'  With  these  three  lines,  madanie,  you  can  make  Madame 
Alexandre  do  anything  you  wish." 

*'  Very  good.  Now  how  am  I  to  let  Cavaillon  know  my  ad- 
dress? It  was  he  who  should  have  brought  me  Prosper'* 
letter." 

*'  He  was  unable  to  come,  madame,"- interrupted  the  detect- 
ive, "  but  I  will  give  him  your  address. " 

Mme.  Gipsy  was  about  to  send  for  a  carriage,  but  Fanferloi 
said  he  was  in  a  hurry,  and  .would  send  her  one.     He  seemed 


43  FILE    NO.     113. 

to  be  in  luck  that  day;  for  a  cab  was  passing  the  door  and  he 
hailed  it. 

*'  Wait  here,"  he  said  to  the  driver,  after  telling  him  that 
he  was  a  detective,  *'  for  a  little  brunette  who  is  coming  down 
with  some  trunks.  If  she  tells  you  to  drive  her  to  Quai  Saint 
Michel,  crack  your  whip;  if  she  gives  you  any  other  address, 
get  down  from  your  seat,  and  arrange  your  harness.  I  will 
keep  in  sight.  *' 

He  stepped  across  the  street,  and  stood  in  the  doOr  of  a 
wine-store.  He  had  not  long  to  wait.  In  a  few  minutes  the 
loud  oracking  of  a  whip  apprised  him  that  Mme.  Nina  had 
started  for  the  Archangel. 

*'  Aha,''  said  he,  gayly,  **  I  hold  her,  at  any  rate." 


CHAPTER  IV. 

At  the  same  hour  that  Mme.  Nina  Gipsy  was  seeking  refuge 
at  the  Archangel,  so  highly  recommended  by  Fanferlot  the 
*'  squirrel,*'  Prosper  Bertomy  was  being  entered  on  the  jailer's 
book  at  the  police  office. 

Since  the  moment  when  he  had  resumed  his  habitual  com- 
posure, he  had  not  faltered. 

Vainly  did  the  people  around  him  watch  for  a  suspicious  ex- 
pression, or  any  sign  of  giving  way  under  the  danger  of  his 
situation. 

His  face  was  like  marble. 

One  would  have  supposed  him  insensible  to  the  horrors  of 
nis  condition,  had  not  his  heavy  breathing  and  the  beads  of 

Eerspiration  standing  on  his  brow  betrayed  the  intense  agony 
e  was  suffering. 

At  the  police  office,  where  he  had  to  wait  two  hours  while 
the  commissary  went  to  receive  orders  from  higher  authorities, 
he  entered  into  conversation  with  the  two  bailiffs  who  had 
charge  of  him. 

At  twelve  o'clock  he  said  he  was  hungry,  and  sent  to  a 
restaurant  near  by  for  his  breakfast,  which  he  eat  with  a  good 
appetite;  he  also  drank  nearly  a  bottle  of  wine. 

While  he  was  thus  occupied,  several  clerks  from  the  prefect- 
are,  who  have  to  transact  business  daily  with  the  commissary 
of  police,  curiously  watched  him.  They  all  formed  the  same 
opinion,  and  admiringly  said  to  each  other: 

*'  Well,  he  is  made  of  strong  material,  he  is!" 

"  Yes,  my  dandy  looks  too  lamb-like  to  be  left  to  his  OWJ 
devices.     He  ought  to  have  a  strong  escort " 


FILE    NO.    113.  43 

When  he  was  told  that  a  coach  was  waiting  for  him  at  the 
floor,  he  at  once  got  up;  but  before  going  out,  he  requested 
permission  to  light  a  cigar,  which  was  granted. 

A  flower-girl  stood  just  by  the  door,  with  her  stand  filled 
with  all  varieties  of  flowers.  He  stopped  and  bought  a  bunch 
of  violets.  The  girl,  seeing  that  he  was  arrested,  said  by  way 
of  thanks: 

"  Good  lack  to  you,  my  poor  gentleman!" 

He  appeared  touched  by  this  mark  of  interest,  and  replied: 

"  Thanks,  my  good  woman,  but  'tis  a  long  time  since  I  have 
had  any." 

It  was  magnificent  weather,  a  bright  spring  morning.  As 
the  coach  went  along  the  Rue  Montmartre  Prosper  kept  his 
head  out  of  the  window,  at  the  same  time  smilingly  complain- 
ing at  being  imprisoned  on  such  a  lovely  day  when  everything 
outside  was  so  sunny  and  pleasant. 

"  It  is  singular,"  he  said:  "  I  never  felt  so  great  a  desire  to 
take  a  walk.** 

One  of  the  bailiffs,  a  large,  jovial,  red-faced  man,  received 
this  remark  with  a  hearty  burst  of  laughter,  and  said: 

"  I  understand.** 

To  the  court  clerk,  while  he  was  going  through  the  formali- 
ties of  the  commitment.  Prosper  replied  with  haughty  brevity 
to  the  indispensable  questions  asked  him. 

But  when  he  was  ordered  to  empty  his  pockets  on  the  table, 
and  they  began  to  search  him,  his  eyes  flashed  with  indigna- 
tion, and  a  single  tear  dropped  upon  his  flushed  cheek.  In  an 
Instant  he  had  recovered  his  stone  calmness,  and  stood  up 
motionless,  with  his  arms  raised  in  the  air  so  that  the  rough 
creatures  about  him  could  more  conveniently  ransack  him  from 
head  to  foot,  to  assure  themselves  that  he  had  no  suspicious 
object  hid  under  his  clothes. 

The  search  would  have,  perhaps,  been  carried  to  the  most 
ignominious  lengths,  but  for  the  intervention  of  a  middle-aged 
man  of  rather  distinguished  appearance,  who  wore  a  white 
cravat  and  gold  spectacles,  and  was  sitting  quite  at  home  by 
the  fire. 

He  started  with  surprise,  and  seemed  much  agitated  whe« 
he  saw  Prosper  brought  in  by  the  bailiffs;  he  stepped  forward, 
and  seemed  about  to  speak  to  him,  then  suddenly  changed  his 
mind,  and  sat  down  again. 

In  spite  of  his  own  troubles.  Prosper  could  not  help  seeing 
that  this  man  kept  his  eyes  fastened  upon  him.  Did  he  know 
him  ?     Vainly  did  he  try  to  recollect  having  met  him  before. 

This  man,  treated  with  all  the  deference  due  to  a  chief,  wa# 


44  FILE    NO.    113. 

no  less  a  personage  than  M.  Lecoq,  a  celebrated  member  o| 
the  detective  corps. 

When  the  men  who  were  searching  Prosper  were  about  to 
take  off  his  boots,  saying  that  a  knife  might  be  concealed  in 
them,  M.  Lecoq  waved  them  aside  with  an  air  of  authority, 
and  said: 

"  You  have  done  enough.*' 

He  was  obeyed.  All  the  formalities  being  ended,  the  un- 
fortunate cashier  was  taken  to  a  narrow  cell;  the  heavily 
barred  door  was  swung  to  and  locked  upon  him;  he  breathed 
freely;  at  last  he  was  alone. 

Yes,  he  believed  himself  to  be  alone.  He  was  ignorant  that 
a  prison  is  made  of  glass,  that  the  accused  is  like  a  miserable 
insect  under  the  microscope  of  an  entomologist.  He  knew  not 
that  the  walls  have  stretched  ears  and  watchful  eyes. 

He  was  so  sure  of  being  alone  that  he  at  once  gave  vent  to 
his  suppressed  feeling,  and,  dropping  his  mask  of  impasw- 
bility,  burst  into  a  flood  of  tears.  His  long-restrained  angor 
now  flashed  out  like  a  smoldering  fire. 

In  a  paroxysm  of  rage  he  uttered  imprecations  and  curses. 
He  dashed  himself  against  the  prison  walls  like  a  wild  beast 
in  a  cage. 

Prosper  Bertomy  was  not  the  man  he  appeared  to  be. 

This  haughty,  correct  gentleman  had  ardent  passions  and  a 
fiery  temperament. 

One  day,  when  he  was  about  twenty-four  years  of  age,  he 
had  become  suddenly  fired  by  ambition.  While  all  of  his  de- 
sires were  repressed,  imprisoned  in  his  low  estate,  like  an 
athlete  in  &  strait-jacket,  seeing  around  him  all  these  rich 
people  with  whom  money  assumed  the  place  of  the  wand  in  the 
fairy-tale,  he  envied  their  lot. 

He  studied  the  beginnings  of  these  financial  princes,  and 
found  that  at  the  starting  point  they  possessed  far  less  than 
himself. 

How,  then,  had  they  succeeded?  By  force  of  energy,  in- 
dustry, and  assurance. 

He  determined  to  imitate  and  excel  them. 

From  this  day,  with  a  force  of  will  much  less  rare  than  w« 
think,  he  imposed  silence  upon  his  instincts.  He  reformed 
not  his  morals,  but  his  manners;  and  so  strictly  did  he  conform 
to  the  rules  of  decorum,  that  he  was  regarded  as  a  model  of 
propriety  hf  those  who  knew  him,  and  had  faith  in  his  charac- 
ter; and  his  capabilities  and  ambition  inspired  the  prophecy 
that  he  would  be  successful  in  attaining  eminence  and  wealth. 


FILE    NO.    113.  41 

And  the  end  of  all  was  this— imprisoned  for  robbery;  that 
is,  ruined! 

For  he  did  not  attempt  to  deceive  himself.  He  knew  that, 
guilty  or  innocent,  a  man  once  suspected  is  as  ineffaceably 
branded  as  the  shoulder  of  a  galley-slave. 

Therefore  what  was  the  use  of  struggling?  _  What  benefit 
.  was  a  triumph  which  could  not  wash  out  the  stain. '^ 

When  the  jailer  brought  him  his  supper,  he  found  him  lying 
on  his  pallet,  with  his  face  buried  in  the  pillow,  weeping  bit- 
terly. 

Ah,  he  was  not  hungry  now!  Now  that  he  was  alone,  he 
fed  upon  his  own  bitter  thoughts.  He  sunk  from  a  state  of 
frenzy  into  one  of  stupefying  despair,  and  vainly  did  he  en- 
deavor to  clear  his  confused  mind,  and  account  for  the  dark 
cloud  gathering  about  him^  no  loop-hole  for  escape  did  he  dis- 
cover. 

The  night  was  long  and  terrible,  and  for  the  first  time  h» 
had  nothing  to  count  the  hours  by  as  they  slowly  dragged  on 
but  the  measured  tread  of  the  patrol  who  came  to  relieve  the 
sentinels.     He  was  wretched. 

At  dawn  he  dropped  into  a  sleep,  a  heavy,  oppressive  sleep, 
which  was  more  wearisome  than  refreshing;  from  which  he 
was  startled  by  the  rough  voice  of  the  jailer. 

"  Come,  monsieur,"  he  said,  "  it  is  time  for  you  to  appear 
before  the  judge  of  instruction.^* 

He  jumped  up  at  once,  and,  without  stopping  to  repair  his 
disordei'ed  toilet,  said: 

"  Come  on,  quick!*' 

The  constable  remarked  as  they  walked  along: 

"  You  are  very  fortunate  in  having  your  case  brought  before 
an  honest  man. 

He  was  right. 

Endowed  with  remarkable  penetration,  firm,  unbiased, 
equally  free  from  false  pity  and  excessive  severity,  M.  Patrigent 
possessed  in  an  eminent  degree  all  the  qualities  necessary  for 
the  delicate  and  difficult  office  of  judge  of  instruction. 

Perhaps  he  was  wanting  in  the  feverish  activity  which  is 
sometimes  necessary  for  coming  to  a  quick  and  just  decision; 
but  he  possessed  unwearying  patience,  which  nothing  could 
discourage.  He  would  cheerfully  devote  years  to  the  exami- 
nation of  a  case;  he  was  even  now  engaged  in  a  case  of  Bel- 
gian bank-notes,  of  which  he  did  not  collect  all  the  threads 
and  solve  the  mystery  until  after  four  y^ars*  investigation. 

Thus  it  was  always  to  his  office  that  they  brought  the  end- 
less lawsuits,  half-finished  ioquests,  and  tangled  cases. 


46  FILE    NO.    113. 

This  was  the  man  before  whom  they  were  taking  Prosper; 
and  they  were  taking  him  by  a  diflBcult  road. 

He  was  escorted  along  a  corridor,  through  a  room  full  ol 
policemen,  down  a  narrow  flight  of  steps,  across  a  kind  of 
cellar,  and  then  up  a  steep  staircase  which  seemed  to  have  no 
terminus. 

Finally  he  reached  a  lon^  narrow  gallery,  upon  which 
opened  many  doors,  bearing  different  numbers. 

Tlie  custodian  of  the  unhappy  cashier  stopped  before  one  of 
these  doors,  and  said: 

"  Here  we  are;  here  your  fate  will  be  decided." 

At  this  remark,  uttered  in  a  tone  of  deep  commiseration. 
Prosper  could  not  refrain  from  shuddering. 

It  was  only  too  true,  that  on  the  other  side  of  this  door  wa» 
a  man  upon  whose  decision  his  freedom  depended. 

Summoning  all  his  courage,  he  turned  the  door-knob,  and 
was  about  to  enter,  when  the  constable  stopped  him. 

"  Don't  be  in  such  haste,'' he  said;  "you  must  sit  down 
here,  and  wait  till  your  turn  comes,  when  you  will  be  called. " 

The  wretched  man  obeyed,  and  his  keeper  took  a  seat  beside 
him. 

Nothing  is  more  terrible  and  lugubrious  than  this  gallery  of 
the  judges  of  instruction. 

Stretching  the  whole  length  of  the  wall  is  a  wooden  bench 
blackened  by  constant  use.  This  bench  has  for  the  last  ten 
years  been  daily  occupied  by  all  the  murderers,  thieves,  and 
suspicious  characters  of  the  Department  of  the  Seine. 

Sooner  or  later,  fatally,  as  filth  rushes  to  a  sewer,  does 
crime  reach  this  gallery,  this  dreadful  gallery  with  one  door 
opening  on  the  galleys,  the  other  on  the  scaflold.  This  place 
was  vulgarly  and  pithily  denominated  by  a  certain  magistrate 
as  the  great  public  wash-house  of  all  the  dirty  linen  in  Paris. 

When  Prosper  reached  the  gallery  it  was  full  of  people.  Tho 
bench  was  almost  entirely  occupied.  Beside  him,  so  close  as 
to  touch  his  shoulder,  sat  a  man  with  a  sinister  countenance, 
dressed  in  rags. 

Before  each  door  which  belonged  to  a  judge  of  instruction 
stood  groups  of  witnesses  talking  in  an  under-tone. 

Policemen  were  constantly  coming  and  going  with  prisoners. 
Sometimes,  above  the  noise  of  their  heavy  boots  tramping 
along  the  flag-stones,  could  be  heard  a  woman's  stifled  sob,  and 
looking  around  you  would  see  some  poor  mother  or  wife  with 
her  face  buried  in  her  handkerchief,  weeping  bitterly. 

At  short  intervals  the  door  would  open  and  shut,  and  « 
bailiff  call  out  a  name  or  numbeiv 


PILE  NO.  113.  47 

This  stifling  atmosphere,  and  the  sight  of  so  much  misery, 
made  the  cashier  ill  and  faint;  he  was  feeling  as  if  another  five 
minutes'  stay  among  these  wretched  creatures  would  make 
him  deathly  sick,  when  a  little  old  man  dressed  in  black,  wear- 
ing the  insignia  of  his  office,  a  steel  chain,  cried  out: 

"  Prosper  Bertomy!*' 

The  unhappy  man  arose,  and,  without  knowing  how,  found 
himself  in  the  office  of  the  judge  of  instruction. 

For  a  moment  he  was  blinded.  He  had  come  out  of  a  dark 
room;  and  the  one  in  which  he  now  found  himself  had  a  win- 
dow directly  opposite  the  door,  so  that  a  flood  of  light  fell  sud- 
denly upon  him. 

This  office,  like  all  those  on  the  gallery,  was  of  a  very  ordi- 
nary appearance,  small  and  dingy. 

The  wall  was  covered  with  cheap,  dark-green  paper,  and  on 
the  floor  was  a  hideous  brown  carpet,  very  much  worn. 

Opposite  the  door  was  a  large  desk,  filled  with  bundles  of 
law-papers,  behind  which  was  seated  the  judge,  facing  those 
who  entered,  so  that  his  face  remained  in  the  shade,  while  that 
of  the  prisoner  or  witnesses  whom  he  questioned  was  in  a  glare 
of  light. 

At  the  right,  before  a  little  table,  sat  a  clerk  writing,  the 
indispensable  auxiliary  of  the  judge. 

But  Prosper  observed  none  of  these  details;  his  whole  atten- 
tion was  concentrated  upon  the  arbiter  of  his  fate,  and  as  he 
closely  examined  his  face  he  was  convinced  that  the  jailer  was 
right  in  calling  him  an  honorable  man. 

M.  Patrigent's  homely  face,  with  its  irregular  outline  and 
short  red  whiskers,  lit  up  by  a  pair  of  bright,  intelligent  eyes, 
and  a  kindly  expression,  was  calculated  to  impress  one  favor- 
ably at  first  sigiit. 

"  Take  a  seat,"  he  said  to  Prosper. 

This  little  attention  was  gratefully  welcomed  by  the  pris 
oner,  for  he  had  expected  to  be  treated  with  harsh  contempt. 
He  looked  upon  it  as  a  good  sign,  and  his  mind  felt  a  slight 
relief. 

M.  Patrigent  turned  toward  the  clerk,  and  said: 

"  We  will  begin  now,  Sigault:  pay  attention.'" 

"  What  is  your  name?"  he  then  asked,  looking  at  Prosper. 

*'  Auguste  Prosper  Bertomy. " 

"  How  old  are  you?'' 

**  I  shall  be  thirty  the  5th  of  next  May." 

**  What  is  your  profession?'"' 

"  I  am — that  is  I  was — a  cashier  in  Monsieur  Andre  Fan* 
rwl's  bank." 


48  PILE    NO.    113. 

The  judge  stopped  to  consult  the  little  memorandum  lying 
ou  his  desk.  Prosper,  who  followed  attentively  every  move- 
ment, began  to  be  hopeful,  saying  to  himself  that  never  would 
a  man  so  unprejudiced  have  the  cruelty  to  send  him  to  prison 
again. 

After  finding  what  he  looked  for,  M.  Patrigent  resumed  the 
examination. 

"  Where  do  you  live?"  he  asked. 

**  At  No.  39  Eue  Chaptal,  for  the  last  four  years.  Before 
that  time  I  lived  at  No.  7  Boulevard  des  Batignolles. " 

"  Where  were  you  born?" 

*'  At  Beaucaire  in  the  Department  of  the  Gare." 

**  Are  your  parents  living?" 

**  My  mother  died  two  years  ago;  my  father  is  still  living.'* 

**  Does  he  live  in  Paris?" 

"  No,  monsieur;  he  lives  at  Beaucaire  with  my  sister,  who 
married  one  of  the  engineers  of  the  Southern  Canal." 

It  was  in  broken  tones  that  Prosper  answered  these  last  ques- 
tions. There  are  moments  in  the  life  of  a  man  when  home 
memories  encourage  and  console  him;  there  are  also  moments 
when  he  would  be  thankful  to  be  without  a  single  tie,  and  bit- 
terly regrets  that  he  is  not  alone  in  the  world. 

M.  Patrigent  observed  the  prisoner's  emotion,  when  he  spoke 
or  his  parents. 

"  What  is  your  father's  calling?"  he  continued. 

*'  He  was  formerly  Superintendent  of  Bridges  and  Canals; 
then  he  was  employed  on  the  Southern  Canal,  with  my  broth- 
er-in-law; now  he  has  retired  from  business." 

There  was  a  moment's  silence.  The  judge  had  turned  his 
cnair  around,  so  that  although  his  head  was  apparently 
averted,  he  had  a  good  view  of  the  workings  of  Prosper'a 
face. 

*'  Well,"  he  said,  abruptly,  **  you  are  accused  of  having 
robbed  Monsieur  Fauvel  of  three  hundred  and  fifty  thousand 
francs." 

During  the  last  twenty-four  hours  the  wretched  young  man 
had  had  time  to  familiarize  himself  with  the  terrible  idea  of 
this  accusation;  and  yet,  uttered  as  it  was  in  this  formal,  brief 
tone,  it  seemed  to  strike  him  with  a  horror  which  rendered 
him  incapable  of  opening  his  lips. 

*'  What  have  you  to  answer?"  asked  the  judge. 

"  That  I  am  innocent,  monsieur;  I  swear  that  I  am  inno- 
cent. " 

*'  I  hope  you  are,"  said  M.  Patrigent,  "  and  you  may  count 
upon  me  to  assist  you  to  the  extent  of  my  ability  in  proving 


FILE    NO.    113.  49 

your  innocence.  You  must  have  defense,  some  facts  to  state; 
have  you  not?" 

"  Ah,  monsieur,  what  can  I  say,  when  I  can  not  understand 
tnis  dreadful  business  myself?  I  can  only  refer  you  to  my 
past  life/' 

The  judge  interrupted  him. 

"  Let  us  be  specific;  the  robbery  was  committed  under  cir- 
cumstances that  prevent  suspicion  from  falling  upon  any  one 
but  Monsieur  Fauvel  and  yourself.  Do  you  suspect  any  one 
else?" 

"  No,  monsieur." 

"  You  declare  yourself  to  be  innocent,  therefore  the  guilty 
party  must  be  Monsieur  Fauvel.*' 

Prosper  remained  silent. 

"Have  you,'' persisted  the  Judge,  "any  cause  for  believ- 
ing that  Monsieur  Fauvel  robbed  himself?" 

The  prisoner  reserved  a  rigid  silence. 

"  I  see,  monsieur,"  said  the  judge,  "  that  you  need  time 
for  reflection.  Listen  to  the  reading  of  your  examination, 
and  after  signing  it  you  will  return  to  prison." 

The  unhappy  man  was  overcome.  The  last  ray  of  hope 
was  gone.  He  heard  nothing  of  what  Sigault  read,  and  he 
signed  the  paper  without  looking  at  it. 

He  tottered  as  he  left  the  judge's  ofl&ce  so  that  the  keeper 
was  forced  to  support  him. 

"  I  fear  your  case  looks  dark,  monsieur,"  said  the  man, 
*'  but  don't  be  disheartened;  keep  up  your  courage." 

Courage!  Prosper  had  not  a  spark  of  it  when  he  returned 
to  his  cell;  but  his  heart  was  filled  with  anger  and  resent- 
ment. 

He  had  determined  that  he  would  defend  himself  before  the 
Judge,  that  he  would  prove  his  innocence;  and  he  had  not 
had  time  to  do  so.  He  reproached  himself  bitterly  for  having 
trusted  to  the  judge's  benevolent  face. 

"  What  a  farce,"  he  angrily  exclaimed,  "  to  call  that  an 
lamination!" 

It  was  not  really  an  examination,  but  a  mere  formality. 

In  summoning  Prosper,  M.  Patrigent  obeyed  Article  93  of 
the  Criminal  Co.de,  which  says:  "  Every  suspected  person 
under  arrest  must  be  examined  within  twenty-four  hours. " 

But  it  is  not  in  twenty-four  ho»irs,  especially  in  a  case  like 
this,  with  no  evidence  or  material  proof,  that  a  judge  can 
collect  the  materials  for  an  examination. 

To  triumph  over  the  obstinate  defense  of  a  prisoner  who 
ghuts  himself  up  in  absolute  denial  as  if  m  a  fortress,  valid 


50  PILE    NO.    lis. 

proofs  are  needed.     These  weapons  M.  Patrigent  was  busily 

preparing. 

If  Prosper  had  remained  a  little  longer  in  the  gallery,  he 
irould  have  seen  the  same  bailiff  who  had  called  him  come  out 
of  the  judge's  office,  and  cry  out: 

"  Number  three.'' 

The  witness  who  was  awaiting  his  turn,  and  answered  the 
call  for  number  three,  was  M.  Fauvel. 

The  banker  was  no  longer  the  same  man.  Yesterday  he 
was  kind  and  affable  in  his  manner:  now,  as  he  entered  the 

i'udge's  room,  he  seemed  irritated.  Reflection,  which  usually 
rings  calmness  and  a  desire  for  pardon,  brought  him  anger 
and  a  thirst  for  vengeance. 

The  inevitable  questions  which  commence  every  examina- 
tion had  scarcely  been  addressed  to  him  before  his  impetuous 
temper  gained  the  mastery,  and  he  burst  forth  in  invectives 
against  Prosper. 

M.  Patrigent  was  obliged  to  impose  silence  upon  him,  re- 
minding him  of  what  was  due  to  himself,  no  matter  what 
wrongs  he  had  suffered  at  the  hands  of  his  clerk. 

Although  he  had  very  slightly  examined  Prosper,  the  judge 
was  now  scrupulously  attentive  and  particular  in  having  every 
question  answered.  Prosper's  examination  had  been  a  mere 
formality,  the  stating  and  proving  a  fact.  Now  it  related  to 
collecting  the  attendant  circumstances  and  most  trifling  par- 
ticulars, so  as  to  group  them  together,  and  reach  a  just  con- 
clusion. 

"  Let  us  proceed  in  order,*'  said  the  judge,  **  and  pray  con- 
tine  yourself  to  answering  my  questions.  Did  you  ever  sus- 
pect your  cashier  of  being  dishonest?'' 

*'  Certainly  not.  Yet  there  were  reasons  which  should  have 
made  me  hesitate  to  trust  him  with  my  funds." 

'*  What  reasons?" 

*'  Monsieur  Bertomy  played  cards.  I  have  known  of  his 
spending  whole  nights  at  the  gaming-table,  and  losing  im- 
mense sums  of  money.  He  was  intimate  with  an  unprincipled 
set.  Once  he  was  mixed  up  with  one  of  my  clients,  Monsieur 
de  Clameran,  in  a  scandalous  gambling  affair  which  took 
place  at  the  house  of  some  disreputable  woman,  and  wound  up 
by  being  tried  before  the  police  court." 

For  some  minutes  the  banker  continued  to  revile  Prosper. 

*'  You  must  confess,  monsieur,"  interrupted  the  judge- 
"  that  you  were  very  imprudent,  if  not  culpable,  to  have  in- 
trusted your  safe  to  such  a  man." 

"  Ah,  monsieur.  Prosper  was  not  always  thus.     Until  the 


FILE    NO.    113.  51 

past  year  he  was  a  model  of  goodness.  He  lived  in  my  housa 
as  one  of  my  family;  he  spent  all  of  his  evenings  with  us,  and 
was  the  bosom  friend  of  my  eldest  son  Lucien.  One  day,  he 
suddenly  left  us,  and  never  came  to  the  house  again.  Yet  I 
had  every  reason  to  believe  him  attached  to  my  niece  Made- 
leine. " 

M.  Patrigent  had  a  peculiar  manner  of  contracting  his  brows 
when  he  thought  he  had  discovered  some  new  proof.  He  now 
did  this,  and  said: 

"Might  not  this  admiration  for  the  young  lady  have  been 
the  cause  of  Monsieur  Bertomy*s  estrangement?" 

"  How  so?*'  said  the  banker,  with  some  surprise.  '*  I  was 
willing  to  bestow  Madeleine  upon  him,  and,  to  be  frank,  was 
astonished  that  he  did  not  ask  for  her  hand.  My  niece  would 
be  a  good  match  for  any  man,  and  he  should  have  considered 
himself  fortunate  to  obtain  her.  She  is  beautiful,  and  her 
dowry  will  be  half  a  million." 

*'  Then  you  can  see  no  motive  for  your  cashier's  conductf" 

"  It  is  impossible  for  me  to  account  for  it.  I  have,  how- 
ever, always  supposed  that  Prosper  was  led  astray  by  a  young 
man  whom  he  met  at  my  house  about  this  time,  M.  Eaoul  de 
Lagors." 

"  Ah!  and  who  is  this  young  man?" 

**  A  relative  of  my  wife;  a  very  attractive,  intelligent  young 
man,  somewhat  wild  but  rich  enough  to  pay  for  his  follies," 

The  judge  wrote  the  name  Lagors  at  the  bottom  of  an 
already  long  list  of  his  memoranda. 

*'  Now,"  he  said,  '*  we  are  coming  to  the  point.  You  are 
sure  that  the  theft  was  not  committed  bv  any  one  in  your 
house?" 

"  Quite  sure,  monsieur." 

"  You  always  kept  your  key?" 

"  I  generally  carried  it  about  on  my  person;  and,  whenever 
I  left  it  at  home,  I  put  it  in  the  secretary  drawer  in  my  cham- 
ber." 

'*  Where  was  it  the  evening  of  the  robbery?" 

"In  my  secretary." 

"  But  then—" 

*'  Excuse  me  for  interrupting  you,"  said  M.  Fauvel,  "  and 
permit  me  to  tell  you  that,  to  a  safe  like  mine,  the  key  is  ol 
no  importance.  In  the  first  place,  one  is  obliged  to  know  the 
word  upon  which  the  five  movable  buttons  turn.  With  the 
word  one  can  open  it  without  the  key;  but  without  the 
word — " 
.    *  *  And  yott  never  told  this  word  to  any  one?  " 


62  TILE    NO.    113. 

"  To  no  one,  monsieur,  and  sometimes  I  would  have  been 
puzzled  to  know  myself  with  what  word  the  safe  had  been 
closed.  Prosper  would  change  it  when  he  chose,  and,  if  he 
Aad  not  informed  me  of  the  change,  would  have  to  come  and 
open  it  for  me.*' 

*'  Had  you  forgotten  it  on  the  day  of  the  theft?*' 

"  No;  the  word  had  been  changed  the  day  before;  and  its 
peculiarity  struck  me. " 

"  What  was  it?" 

"  Gipsy — g,  i,  p,  s,  y,'*  said  the  banker,  spelling  the  name. 

M.  Patrigent  wrote  down  this  name. 

**  One  more  question,  monsieur:  were  you  at  home  the 
evening  before  the  robbery?" 

"  No;  I  dined  and  spent  the  evening  with  a  friend;  when  I 
returned  home,  about  one  o^clock,  my  wife  had  retired,  and  I 
went  to  bed  immediately.  *' 

"  And  you  were  ignorant  of  the  amount  of  money  in  the 
safe?" 

"  Absolutely.  In  conformity  with  my  positive  orders,  I 
could  only  suppose  that  a  small  sum  had  been  left  there  over 
night;  I  stated  this  fact  to  the  commissary  in  Monsieur  Ber- 
tomy*s  presence,  and  he  acknowledged  it  to  be  the  case." 

"  Perfectly  correct,  monsieur;  the  commissary's  repoi  t 
proves  it."  M.  Patrigent  was  for  a  time  silent.  To  him 
everything  depended  upon  this  one  fact,  that  the  banker  was 
unaware  of  the  three  hundred  and  fifty  thousand  francs  being 
in  the  safe,  and  Prosper  had  disobeyed  orders  by  placing  them 
there  over  night;  hence  the  conclusion  was  very  easily  drawn. 

Seeing  that  his  examination  was  over,  the  banker  thought 
he  would  relieve  his  mind  of  what  was  weighing  upon  it. 

"I  believe  myself  above  suspicion,  monsieur,"  he  began, 
**  and  yet  I  can  never  rest  easy  until  Bertomy's  guilt  has  been 
clearly  proved.  Calumny  prefers  attacking  a  successful  man; 
I  may  be  calumniated:  three  hundred  and  fifty  thousand  francs 
is  a  fortune  capable  of  tempting  even  a  rich  man.  I  would 
be  obliged  if  you  would  have  the  condition  of  my  banking- 
house  examined.  This  examination  will  prove  that  I  could 
have  no  interest  in  robbing  my  own  safe.  The  prosperous 
condition  of  my  affairs — " 

"  That  is  sufficient,  monsieur." 

M.  Patrigent  was  well  informed  of  the  high  standing  of  the 
banker,  and  knew  almost  as  much  of  his  affairs  as  did  M. 
Fauvel  himself. 

He  asked  him  to  sign  his  testimony,  and  then  escorted  hinc 
o  the  door  of  his  office,  a  rare  favor  on  his  part. 


FILE    NO.    113.  63 

When  M.  Fauvel  had  left  the  room,  Sigault  indulged  in  a 
remark.  "  This  seems  to  be  a  very  cloudy  case/'  he  said; 
"  if  the  cashier  is  shrewd  and  firm,  it  will  be  difiicult  to  con- 
vict him. " 

"Perhaps  it  will,'*  said  the  judge,  "but  let  us  hear  the 
other  witnesses  before  deciding. " 

The  person  who  answered  to  the  call  for  number  four  was 
Lucien,  M.  FauveFs  eldest  son. 

He  was  a  tall,  handsome  young  man  of  twenty-two.  To 
the  judge's  questions  he  replied  that  he  was  very  fond  of  Pros- 
per, was  once  very  intimate  with  him,  and  had  always  regarded 
nim  as  a  strictly  honorable  man,  incapable  of  doing  anything 
unbecoming  a  gentleman. 

He  declared  that  he  could  not  imagine  what  fatal  circum- 
stances could  have  induced  Prosper  to  commit  a  theft.  He 
knew  he  played  cards,  but  not  to  the  extent  that  was  reported. 
He  had  never  kuown  him  to  indulge  in  expenses  beyond  hia 
means. 

In  regard  to  his  cousin  Madeleine,  he  replied: 

"  I  always  thought  that  Prosper  was  in  love  with  Madeleine, 
and,  until  yesterday,  I  was  certain  he  would  marry  her,  know- 
ing that  my  father  would  not  oppose  the  marriage.  I  have 
always  attributed  the  discontinuance  of  Prosper's  visits  to  a 
quarrel  with  my  cousin,  but  supposed  they  would  end  by  be- 
coming reconciled. " 

This  information,  more  than  that  of  M.  Fauvel,  threw  light 
upon  Prosper's  past  life,  but  did  not,  apparently,  reveal  any 
evidence  which  could  be  used  in  the  present  state  of  affairs. 

Lucien  signed  his  deposition,  and  withdrew. 

Cavaillon's  turn  for  examination  came  next.  The  poor  fel- 
low was  in  a  pitiable  state  of  mind  when  he  appeared  before 
the  judge. 

Having,  as  a  great  secret,  confided  to  a  friend  his  adventure 
with  the  detective,  and  being  jeered  at  for  his  cowardice  in 
giving  up  the  note,  he  felt  great  remorse,  and  passed  the  night 
in  reproaching  himself  for  having  ruined  Prosper. 

He  endeavored  to  repair,  as  well  as  he  could,  what  he  called 
his  treason. 

He  did  not  exactly  accuse  M.  Fauvel,  but  he  courageously 
declared  that  he  was  the  cashier's  friend,  and  that  he  was  aa 
Bure  of  his  innocence  as  he  was  of  his  own. 

Unfortunately,  besides  his  having  no  proofs  to  strengthen 
his  assertions,  these  were  deprived  of  any  value  by  his  violent 
professions  of  friendship  for  the  accused. 

After  Cavaillon,  six  or  eight  clerks  of  the  Fauvel  bank  suo 


54  FILE    NO.    IIJJ. 

cessively  defiled  in  the  judge's  oflBce;  but  their  depositionj 
were  nearly  all  insignificant. 

One  of  them,  however,  stated  a  fact  which  the  judge  care- 
fully noted.  He  said  that  he  knew  that  Prosper  had  speculated 
on  the  Bourse  through  the  medium  of  M.  Eaoul  de  Lagors, 
and  had  gained  immense  sums. 

Five  o'clock  struck  before  the  list  of  witnesses  summoned 
for  the  day  was  exhausted.  But  the  task  of  M.  Patrigent  was 
not  yet  finished.  He  rang  for  his  bailiff,  who  instantly  ap- 
peared, and  said  to  him: 

"  Go  at  once,  and  bring  Fanferlot  here." 

It  was  some  time  before  the  detective  answered  the  sum- 
mons. Having  met  a  colleague  on  the  gallery,  he  thought  il: 
his  duty  to  treat  him  to  a  drink,  and  the  bailiff  had  found  ifc 
necessary  to  bring  him  from  the  little  inn  at  the  corner. 

"  How  is  it  that  you  keep  people  waiting?'^  said  the  judge, 
when  he  entered  bowing  and  scraping.  Fanferlot  bowed  mora 
profoundly  still. 

Despite  his  smiling  face,  he  was  very  uneasy.  To  prosecute 
the  Bertomy  case  alone,  it  required  a  double  play  that  mrght 
be  discovered  at  any  moment;  to  manage  at  once  the  cause  of 
justice  and  his  own  ambition,  he  ran  great  risks,  the  least  of 
which  was  the  losing  his  place. 

"  I  have  had  a  great  deal  to  do,*'  he  said,  to  excuse  himself, 
f'  and  have  not  wasted  any  time.'' 

And  he  began  to  give  a  detailed  account  of  his  movements- 
He  was  embarrassed,  for  he  spoke  with  all  sorts  of  restrictions, 
picking  out  what  was  to  be  said,  and  avoiding  what  was  to  be 
left  unsaid.  Thus  he  gave  the  history  of  Cavaillon's  letter, 
which  he  handed  to  the  judge;  but  he  did  not  breathe  a  word 
of  Madeleine.  On  the  other  hand,  he  gave  biographical  de- 
tails, very  minute  indeed,  of  Prosper  and  Mme.  Gipsy,  which 
he  had  collected  from  various  quarters  during  the  day. 

As  he  progressed,  the  conviction  of  M.  Patrigent  was 
strengthened. 

"  This  young  man  is  evidently  guilty,"  he  said.  Fanferlot 
did  not  reply;  his  opinion  was  different,  but  he  was  delighted 
that  the  judge  was  on  the  wrong  track,  thinking  that  his  own 
glory  would  thereby  be  the  greater  when  he  discovered  the 
real  culprit.  True,  this  grand  discovery  was  as  far  off  as  it 
had  ever  been,  but  Fanferlot  was  hopeful. 

After  hearing  all  he  had  to  tell  the  judge  dismissed  Fanfer- 
lot, telling  him  to  return  the  next  day. 

**  Above  all,"  he  said,  as  Fanferlot  left  the  room,  "  do  not 


/ 


PILE   NO.  113.  55 

lose  sight  of  the  girl  Gipsy;  she  must  know  where  the  money 
is,  and  can  put  us  on  the  track. " 

Fanferlot  smiled  cunningly. 

"  You  may  rest  easy  about  that,  monsieur;  the  lady  is  ia 
good  hands." 

Left  to  himself,  although  the  evening  was  far  advanced,  M. 
Patrigent  continued  to  busy  himself  with  the  case,  and  to 
arrange  that  the  rest  of  the  depositions  should  be  made. 
Tliis  case  had  actually  taken  possession  of  his  mind;  it  was,  at 
the  same  time,  puzzling  and  attractive.  It  seemed  to  be  sur- 
rounded by  a  cloud  of  mystery,  and  he  determined  to  penetrate 
and  dispel  it. 

The  next  morning  he  was  in  his  office  much  earlier  than 
tisual.  On  this  day  he  examined  Mme.  Gipsy,  called  Oavail- 
lon,  and  sent  again  for  M.  Fauvel.  For  several  days  he  dis- 
played the  same  activity. 

Of  all  the  witnesses  summoned,  only  two  failed  to  appear. 

One  was  the  office-boy  sent  by  Prosper  to  bring  the  money 
from  the  city  bank;  he  was  ill  from  a  fall. 

The  other  was  M.  Raoul  de  Lagors. 

But  their  absence  did  not  prevent  the  file  of  papers  relating 
to  Prosper's  case  from  daily  increasing;  and  on  the  ensuing 
Monday,  five  days  after  the  robbery,  M.  Patrigent  thought  he 
held  in  his  hands  enough  moral  proof  to  crush  the  accused. 


CHAPTEE    V. 

While  his  whole  past  was  the  object  ,of  the  most  minute 
investigations.  Prosper  was  in  prison,  in  a  secret  cell. 

The  two  first  days  had  not  appeared  very  long. 

He  had  requested,  and  been  granted,  some  sheets  of  paper, 
numbered,  which  he  was  obliged  to  accounb  for;  and  he  wrote, 
with  a  sort  of  rage,  plans  of  defense  and  a  narrative  of  jus- 
tification. 

The  third  day  he  began  to  be  uneasy  at  not  seeing  any  one 
except  the  condemned  prisoners  who  were  employed  to  serve 
those  confined  in  secret  cells,  and  the  jailer  who  brought  him 
his  food. 

"  Am  I  not  to  be  examined  again?''  he  would  ask. 

"  Your  turn  is  coming,"  the  jailer  invariably  answered. 

Time  passed;  and  the  wretched  man,  tortured  by  the  suffer- 
ings of  solitary  confinement,  which  quickly  breaks  the  spirit^ 
3unk  into  the  depths  of  despair. 

*'  Am  I  to  stay  here  forever?"  he  moaned. 


66  PILE    NO.    113. 

No,  he  was  not  forgotten;  for  on  Monday  morning,  at  one 
o-clock,  an  hour  when  the  jailer  never  came,  he  heard  the 
heavy  bolt  of  his  cell  pushed  back. 

He  ran  toward  the  door. 

But  the  sight  of  a  gray-headed  man  standing  on  the  eiil 
rooted  him  to  the  spot. 

"  Father,'*  he  gasped,  "  father  I" 

*'  Your  father,  yes!*' 

Prosper's  astonishment  at  seeing  his  father  was  instantly 
succeeded  by  a  feehng  of  great  joy. 

A  father  is  the  one  friend  upon  whom  we  can  always  rely. 
In  the  hour  of  need,  when  all  else  fails,  we  remember  this 
man  upon  whose  knees  we  sat  when  children,  and  who 
soothed  our  sorrows;  and  although  he  can  in  no  way  assist  us, 
his  presence  alone  comforts  and  strengthens. 

Without  reflecting.  Prosper,  impelled  by  tender  feeling, 
was  about  to  throw  himself  on  his  father's  bosom.  M.  Ber- 
tomy  harshly  repulsed  him. 

"  Do  not  approach  me!"  he  exclaimed. 

He  then  advanced  into  the  cell,  and  closed  the  door.  The 
father  and  son  were  alone  together — Prosper,  heartbroken, 
crushed;  M.  Bertomy,  angry,  almost  threatening. 

Cast  off  by  this  last  friend,  by  his  father,  the  miserable 
young  man  seemed  to  be  stupefied  with  pain  and  disappoint- 
ment. 

"  You,  too!"  he  bitterly  cried.  '*  You — ^you  believe  me 
guilty?     Oh,  father!" 

"  Spare  yourself  this  shameful  comedy,"  interrupted  M. 
i5ertomy:  "  I  know  all." 

"  But  I  am  innocent,  father;  I  swear  it  by  the  sacred 
memory  of  my  mother." 

"Unhappy  wretch,"  cried  M.  Bertomy,  "do  not  blas- 
pheme!" 

He  seemed  overcome  by  tender  thoughts  of  the  past,  and  in 
a  weak,  broken  voice,  he  added: 

"  Your  mother  is  dead,  Prosper,  and  little  did  I  think  that 
the  day  would  come  when  I  could  thank  God  for  having  taken 
her  from  me.  Your  crime  would  have  killed  her,  would  have 
broken  her  heart!" 

After  a  painful  silence.  Prosper  said: 

"  You  overwhelm  me,  father,  and  at  the  moment  when  I 
need  all  my  courage;  when  I  am  the  victim  of  an  odious  plot." 

"  Victim!"  cried  M.  Bertomy,  "  victim!  Dare  you  utter 
your  insinuations  against  the  honorable  man  who  has  taken 
care  of  you,  loaded  you  with  benefits,  and  had  insured  you  » 


FILE    NO.    113.  57 

brilliant  future?    It  is  enough  for  you  to  have  robbed  him;  do 
not  calumniate  him. " 

"  For  pity's  sake,  father,  let  me  speak!" 

"  I  suppose  you  would  deny  your  benefactor's  kindness. 
Yet  you  were  at  one  time  so  sure  of  his  affection,  that  yoq 
wrote  me  to  hold  myself  in  readiness  to  come  to  Paris  and  ask 
Monsieur  Fauvel  for  the  hand  of  his  niece.  Was  that  a  lie 
too?" 

"  No,''  said  Prosper,  in  a  choked  voice,  "  no."  ■ 

"  That  was  a  year  ago;  you  then  loved  Mademoiselle  Made- 
leine; at  least  you  wrote  me  that  you — " 

"  Father,  I  love  her  now,  more  than  ever;  I  have  never 
ceased  to  love  her." 

M.  Bertomy  made  a  gesture  of  contemptuous  pity. 

*' Indeed!"  he  cried,  "  and  the  thought  of  the  pure,  inno- 
cent girl  whom  you  loved  did  not  prevent  your  entering  up6a 
a  path  of  sin.  You  loved  her;  how  dared  you  then,  without 
blushing,  approach  her  presence  after  associating  with  the 
shameless  creatures  with  whom  you  were  so  intimate?" 

"  For  Heaven's  sake  let  me  explain  by  what  fatality  Made- 
leine— " 

"  Enough,  monsieur,  enough.  I  told  you  that  I  know  every- 
thing. I  saw  Monsieur  Fauvel  yesterday:  this  morning  I  saw 
the  judge,  and  'tis  to  his  kindness  that  I  am  indebted  for  this 
interview.  Do  you  know  what  mortification  I  suffered  before 
being  allowed  to  see  you?  I  was  searched  and  made  to  empty 
all  of  my  pockets,  on  suspicion  of  bringing  you  arms!" 

Prosper  ceased  to  justify  himself,  but  in  a  helpless,  hope- 
less way,  dropped  down  upon  a  seat. 

'*  I  have  seen  your  apartments,  and  at  once  recognized  the 
proofs  of  your  crime.  I  saw  silk  curtains  hanging  before  every 
window  and  door,  and  the  walls  covered  with  pictures.  In  my 
father's  house  the  walls  were  whitewashed;  and  there  was  but 
one  arm-chair  in  the  whole  house,  and  that  was  my  mother's. 
Our  luxury  was  our  honesty.  You  are  the  first  member  of 
our  family  who  has  possessed  Aubusson  carpets;  though,  to  be 
sure,  you  are  the  first  thief  of  our  blood." 

At  this  last  insult  Prosp'er's  face  flushed  crimson,  but  he  re- 
mained silent  and  immovable. 

"  But  luxury  is  necessary  now,"  continued  M.  Bertomy,  be- 
coming more  excited  and  angry  as  he  went  on,  "  luxury  must 
be  had  at  any  price.  You  must  have  the  insolent  opulence 
and  display  of  an  upstart,  without  being  an  upstart.  You 
must  support  worthless  women  who  wear  satin  slippers  lined 
with  swan's-down,  like  those  I  saw  in  your  rooms,  and  keejf 


58  FILE    NO.    113. 

serrantg  ia  livery — and  you  steal !  And  bankers  no  longer  trnrt 
their  safe  keys  with  anybody;  and  every  day  honest  families 
are  disgraced  by  the  discovery  of  some  new  piece  of  villainy. '" 

M.  Bertomy  suddenly  stopped.  He  saw  that  his  son  was  not 
in  a  condition  to  hear  any  more  reproaches. 

"  But  I  will  say  no  more/*  he  said.     "  I  came  here  not  to 
reproach,  but,  if  possible,  to  save  the  honor  of  our  name,  to* 
prevent  it  from  being   published  in   the  papers  among  the 
names  of  thieves  and  murderers.     Stand  up  and  list«>n  to  me!" 

At  the  imperious  tone  of  his  father.  Prosper  arose.  So 
many  successive  blows  had  reduced  him  to  a  state  of  torpor. 

"  First  of  all,"  began  M.  Bertomy,  "  how  much  have  you 
remaining  of  the  stolen  three  hundred  and  fifty  thousand 
francs?" 

*'  Once  more,  father,"  replied  the  unfortunate  man,  in  a 
tone  of  helpless  resignation,  "  once  more  I  swear  I  am  inno- 
cent. " 

"  So  I  supposed  you  would  say.  Then  our  family  will  have 
to  repair  the  injury  you  have  done  Monsieur  Fauvel." 

*'  What  do  you  mean?" 

*'  The  day  he  heard  of  your  crime,  your  brother-in-law 
brought  me  your  sister's  dowry — seventy  thousand  francs.  I 
succeeded  in  collecting  a  hundred  and  forty  thousand  francs 
more.  This  makes  two  hundred  and  ten  thousand  francs  which 
I  have  brought  with  me  to  give  to  Monsieur  Fauvel. '* 

This  threat  aroused  Prosper  from  his  torpor. 

*'  You  shall  do  nothing  of  the  kind!*'  he  cried,  with  unre- 
strained indignation. 

"  I  will  do  so  before  the  sun  goes  down  this  day.  Monsieur 
Fauvel  will  grant  me  time  to  pay  the  rest.  My  pension  is  fif- 
teen hundred  francs.  I  can  live  upon  five  hundred,  and  am 
strong  enough  to  go  to  work  again;  and  your  brother-in-law — " 

M.  Bertomy  stopped  short,  frightened  at  the  expression  of 
his  son's  face.  His  features  were  contracted  with  such  furious 
rage  that  he  was  scarcely  recognizable,  and  his  eyes  glared  like 
a  maniac's. 

"  You  dare  not  disgrace  me  thus!"  he  cried:  "  you  have  no 
right  to  do  it.  You  are  free  to  disbelieve  me  yourself,  but  you 
have  no  right  for  taking  a  step  that  would  be  a  confession  of 
guilt,  and  ruin  me  forever.  Who  and  what  convinces  you  of 
my  guilt?  When  cold  justice  hesitates,  you,  my  father,  hesi- 
tate not;  but,  more  pitiless  than  the  law,  condemn  me  un- 
heard!" 

"  I  only  do  my  duty." 

"  Which  means  that  I  stand  on  the  edge  of  a  precipice,  and 


FILE    NO.    113.  59 

you  push  me  over.  Do  you  call  that  your  duty?  What!  be 
f  tw^een  strangers  who  accuse  me,  and  myself  who  swear  that  I 
am  innocent,  you  do  not  hesitate?  Why?  Is  it  because  I  am 
your  son?  Our  honor  is  at  stake,  it  is  true;  but  that  is  only 
the  more  reason  why  you  should  sustain  me,  and  assist  me  to 
defend  myself.  *' 

Prosper's  earnest,  truthful  manner  was  enough  to  unsettle 
the  firmest  convictions,  and  make  doubt  penetrate  the  most 
stubborn  mind. 

"  Yes,''  said  M.  Bertomy,  in  a  hesitating  tone,  "  everything 
seems  to  accuse  you." 

"  Ah,  father,  you  do  not  know  that  I  was  suddenly  banished 
from  Madeleine's  presence;  that  I  was  compelled  to  avoid  her. 
I  became  desperate,  and  tried  to  forget  my  sorrow  in  dissipa- 
tion. I  sought  oblivion,  and  found  shame  and  disgust.  Oh, 
Madeleine,  Madeleine!" 

He  was  overcome  with  emotion;  but  in  a  few  minutes  he 
started  up  with  renewed  violence  in  his  voice  and  manner. 

"  Everything  is  against  me!"  he  exclaimed,  "  but  no  mat- 
ter. I  will  justify  myself  or  perish  in  the  attempt.  Human 
justice  is  liable  to  error;  although  innocent,  I  may  be  con- 
victed; so  be  it.  I  will  undergo  my  penalty;  but  people  are 
not  kept  galley-slaves  forever." 

"  What  do  you  mean?" 

"  I  mean,  father,  that  I  am  now  another  man.  My  life, 
■henceforth,  has  an  object — vengeance!  I  am  the  victim  of  a 
vile  plot.  As  Jong  as  I  hav^e  a  drop  of  blood  in  my  veins,  I 
will  seek  its  author.  And  I  will  certainly  find  him;  and  then 
bitterly  shall  he  expiate  all  of  my  cruel  suffering.  The  blow 
came  from  the  house  of  Fauvel,  and  I  will  live  to  prove  it." 

"  Take  care:  your  anger  makes  you  say  things  that  you  will 
repent  hereafter." 

"  Yes,  I  see,  you  are  going  to  descant  upon  the  probity  of 
Monsieur  Andre  Fauvel.  You  will  tell  me  that  all  the  virtues 
have  taken  refuge  in  the  bosom  of  this  patriarchal  family. 
What  do  you  know  about  it?  Would  this  be  the  first  instance 
in  which  the  most  shameful  secrets  are  concealed  beneath  the 
fairest  appearances?  Why  did  Madeleine  suddenly  forbid  me 
io  think  of  her?  Why  has  she  exiled  me,  when  she  suffers  as 
much  from  our  separation  as  I  myself,  when  she  still  loves 
me?  For  she  does  love  me.  I  am  sure  cf  it.  I  have  proofs 
of  it. "  _ 

The  jailer  came  to  say  that  the  time  allotted  to  M.  Bertomy 
had  expired,  and  that  he  must  leave  the  cell. 


60  FILE    NO.    113. 

A  thousand  conflicting  emotions  seemed  to  rend  the  old 
man's  heart. 

Suppose  Prosper  were  telling  the  truth:  how  great  would  be 
his  remorse,  if  he  had  added  to  his  already  great  weight  of  sor- 
row and  trouble!  And  who  could  prove  that  he  was  not  sin- 
cere? 

The  voice  of  this  son,  of  whom  he  had  always  been  so  proud, 
had  aroused  all  his  paternal  affection,  so  violently  repressed. 
Ah,  were  he  guilty,  and  guilty  of  a  worse  crime,  still  he  was 
his  son,  his  only  son! 

His  countenance  lost  its  severity,  and  his  eyes  filled  with 
tears. 

He  had  resolved  to  leave,  as  he  had  entered,  stern  and  angry: 
he  had  not  the  cruel  courage.  His  heart  was  breaking.  He 
opened  his  arms,  and  pressed  Prosper  to  his  heart. 

"Oh,  my  son!''  he  murmured,  "God  grant  you  have 
spoken  the  truth!" 

Prosper  was  triumphant:  he  had  almost  convinced  his  father 
of  his  innocence.  But  he  had  not  time  to  rejoice  over  this 
victory. 

The  cell  door  again  opened,  and  the  jailer's  gruff  voice  once 
more  called  out: 

*'  It  is  time  for  you  to  appear  before  the  court." 

He  instantly  obeyed  the  order. 

But  his  step  was  no  longer  unsteady,  as  a  few  days  previous 
a  complete  change  had  taken  place  within  him.  He  walked 
with  a  firm  step,  head  erect,  and  the  fire  of  resolution  in  his 
eye. 

He  knew  the  way  now,  and  he  walked  a  little  ahead  of  the 
constable  who  escorted  him. 

As  he  was  passing  through  the  room  full  of  policemen,  he 
met  the  man  with  the  gold  spectacles,  who  had  watched  him 
so  intently  the  day  he  was  searched. 

"  Courage,  Monsieur  Prosper  Bertomy,"  he  said:  "  if  you 
are  innocent,  there  are  those  who  will  help  you." 

Prosper  started  with  surprise,  and  was  about  to  reply,  when 
the  man  disappeared. 

'*  Who  is  that  gentleman?"  he  asked  of  the  policeman. 

"  Is  it  possible  that  you  don't  know  him?"  replied  the 
policeman,  with  surprise.  "  Why,  it  is  Monsieur  Lecoq,  of 
the  police  service." 

"You  say  his  name  is  Lecoq?" 

**  You  might  as  well  say'  monsieur,' "  said  the  offended 
policeman;  it  would  not  burn  your  mouth.  Monsieur  hecor\ 
la  a  man  who  knows  everything  he  wants  to  know,  without  it>rf 


FILE    KO.    113.  61 

ever  being  told  to  him.  If  you  had  had  him  instead  of  that 
smooth-tongued,  imbecile  Fanferlot,  your  oase  would  have 
been  settled  long  ago.  Nobody  is  allowed  to  waste  time  when 
he  has  command.     But  he  seems  to  be  a  friend  of  yours. '^ 

"  I  never  saw  him  until  the  first  day  I  came  here." 

"  You  can^t  swear  to  that,  because  no  one  can  boast  of 
Knowing  the  real  face  of  Monsieur  Lecoq.  It  is  one  thing  to- 
day, and  another  to-morrow;  sometimes  he  is  a  dark  man, 
sometimes  a  fair  one,  sometimes  quite  young,  and  then  an 
octogenarian:  why,  not  seldom  he  even  deceives  me.  I  begin 
to  talk  to  a  stranger — paf !  the  first  thing  I  know  it  is  Mon- 
sieur Lecoq!.  Anybody  on  the  face  of  the  earth  might  be  he. 
If  I  were  told  that  you  were  he,  I  should  say,  '  It  is  very 
likely.*  Ah!  he  can  convert  himself  into  any  shape  and  form 
he  chooses.     He  is  a  wonderful  man!'* 

The  constable  would  have  continued  forever  his  praises  of 
M.  Lecoq  had  not  the  sight  of  the  judge's  door  put  an  end  to 
them. 

This  time.  Prosper  was  not  kept  waiting  on  the  wooden 
bench;  the  judge,  on  the  contrary,  was  waiting  for  him. 

M.  Patrigent,  who  was  a  profound  observer  of  human  nature, 
had  contrived  the  interview  between  M.  Bertomy  and  his  son. 

He  was  sure  that  between  the  father,  a  man  of  such  stub- 
born honor,  and  the  son,  accused  of  theft,  an  affecting  scene 
would  take  place,  and  this  scene  would  completely  unman 
Prosper,  and  make  him  confess. 

He  determined  to  send  for  him  as  soon  as  the  interview  was 
over,  while  all  his  nerves  were  vibrating  with  terrible  emo- 
tions; he  would  tell  the  truth,  to  reUeve  his  troubled,  despair- 
ing mind. 

His  surprise  was  great  to  see  the  cashier's  bearing;  resolute 
without  obstinacy,  firm  and  assured  without  defiance. 

"  Well,''  he  said,  "  have  you  reflected?" 

*'  Not  being  guilty,  monsieur,  I  had  nothing  to  reflect  upon. " 

"  Ah,  I  see  the  prison  has  not  been  a  good  counselor:  you 
forget  that  sincerity  and  repentance  are  the  first  things  neces- 
sary to  obtain  the  indulgence  of  the  law." 

*'  I  crave  no  indulgence,  monsieur." 

M.  Patrigent,  looked  vexed,  and  said: 

"  What  would  you  say  if  I  told  you  what  had  become  of  the 
three  hundred  and  fifty  thousand  francs?" 

Prosper  shook  his  head  sadly. 

'*  If  it  were  known,  monsieur,  I  would  not  be  here,  but  at 
liberty." 

This  device  had  often  been  used  by  the  judge,  and  generall;? 


62  FILE    NO.    113. 

succeeded;  but,  with  a  man  so  thoroughly  master  of  himself^ 
there  was  small  chance  of  success.  It  had  been  used  at  a  veni^ 
nre,  and  failed. 

*'  Then  you  persist  in  accusing  Monsieur  Fauvel?*' 

*'  Him,  or  some  one  else.*' 

"Excuse  me;  no  one  else,  since  he  alone  knew  the  word. 
Had  he  any  interest  in  robbing  himself?*' 

"  I  can  think  of  none." 

"  Well,  now  I  will  tell  you  what  interest  you  had  in  robbing 
him." 

M.  Patrigent  spoke  as  a  man  who  was  convinced  of  the  facts 
he  was  about  to  state;  but  his  assurance  was  all  assumed. 

He  had  relied  upon  crushing,  at  a  blow,  a  despairing, 
wretched  man,  and  was  nonplused  by  seeing  him  appear  so 
determined  upon  resistance. 

"  Will  you  be  good  enough  to  tell  me,"  he  said,  in  a  vexed 
tone,  "  how  much  you  have  spent  during  the  last  year?" 

Prosper  did  not  find  it  necessary  to  stop  to  reflect  and  cal- 
culate. 

"  Yes,  monsieur,"  he  answered,  unhesitatingly.  "  Cir- 
cumstances made  it  necessary  for  me  to  preserve  the  greatest 
order  in  my  wild  career;  I  spent  about  fifty  thousand  francs." 

"  Where  did  you  obtain  them?" 

"  In  the  first  place,  twelve  thousand  francs  were  left  to  me 
Dy  my  mother.  I  received  from  Monsieur  Fauvel  fourteen 
thousand  francs,  as  my  salary  and  share  of  the  profits.  By 
speculating  in  stocks,  I  gained  eight  thousand  francs.  The 
rest  I  borrowed,  and  intend  repaying  out  of  the  fifteen  thou- 
eand  francs  which  I  have  deposited  in  Monsieur  FauveFs 
Dank." 

The  account  was  clear,  exact,  and  could  be  easily  proved;  it 
must  be  a  true  one. 

"  Who  lent  you  the  money?" 

**  Monsieur  Eaoul  de  Lagors. " 

This  witness  had  left  Paris  the  day  of  the  robbery,  and  could 
not  be  found;  so  for  the  time  being  M.  Patrigent  was  com- 
pelled to  rely  upon  Prosper's  word. 

"  Well,"  he  said,  "  I  will  not  press  this  point;  but  tell  me 
why,  in  spite  of  the  formal  order  of  Monsieur  Fauvel,  you 
drew  the  money  from  the  Bank  of  France  the  night  before, 
instead  of  waiting  till  the  morning  of  the  payment?" 

"  Because  Monsieur  de  Clameran  had  informed  me  that  it 
would  be  agreeable,  necessary  even,  for  him  to  have  his  money 
early  in  the  morning.  He  will  testify  to  that  fact,  if  you  sum- 
mon him;  and  I  knew  that  I  should  reach  my  office  late." 


FILE    KO.    lis.  eS 

"  Then  Monsieur  de  Clameran  is  a  friend  of  yours?'* 

"By  no  means.  I  have  always  felt  repelled  by  him;  but 
he  is  the  intimate  friend  of  Monsieur  Lagors/' 

While  Sigault  was  writing  down  these  answers,  M.  Patri- 
gent  was  racking  his  brain  to  imagine  what  couid  have  oc- 
curred between  M.  Bertomy  and  his  son,  to  cause  this  trans- 
formation in  Prosper. 

"  One  more  thing,''  said  the  judge:  "  how  did  you  spend 
the  evening,  the  night  before  the  crime?" 

"  When  I  left  my  office,  at  five  o'clock  I  took  the  St.  Ger- 
main train,  and  went  to  Vesinet — Monsieur  de  Lagors's  coun- 
try seat— to  carry  him  fifteen  hundred  francs  which  he  had 
asked  for;  and,  not  finding  him  at  home,  I  left  it  with  hia 
servant." 

*'  Did  he  tell  you  that  Monsieur  de  Lagors  was  going  away?" 

*'  No,  monsieur.     I  did  not  know  that  he  had  left  Paris." 

*'  Where  did  you  go  when  you  left  Vesinet?" 

**  I  returned  to  Paris,  and  dined  at  a  restaurant  with  a 
friend. ' ' 

"  And  then?" 

Prosper  hesitated. 

"  You  are  silent,"  said  M.  Patrigent,  "  then  I  will  tell  yotr 
how  you  employed  your  time.  You  returned  to  your  rooms 
in  the  Rue  Chaptal,  dressed  yourself,  and  attended  a  soirefi 
given  by  one  of  those  women  who  style  themselves  dramatic 
artistes,  and  who  are  a  disgrace  to  the  stage,  who  receive  h 
hundred  crowns  a  year,  and  yet  keep  their  carriages — at 
Mademoiselle  Wilson's. " 

*'  You  are  right,  monsieur." 

*'  There  is  heavy  playing  at  Wilson's?" 

"  Sometimes." 

"  You  are  in  the  habit  of  visiting  places  of  this  sort.  Were 
you  not  connected  in  some  way  with  a  scandalous  adventure 
which  took  place  at  the  house  of  a  woman  named  Crescenzi?" 

*'  I  was  summoned  to  testify,  having  witnessed  a  theft." 

"  Gambling  generally  leads  to  stealing.  And  did  you  not 
play  at  baccarat  at  Wilson's,  and  lose  eighteen  hundred 
francs?" 

"  Excuse  me,  monsieur,  only  eleven  hundred." 

*'  Very  well.  In  the  morning  you  paid  a  note  of  a  thousand 
francs. ' ' 

"  Yes,  monsieur." 

**  Moreover,  there  remained  in  your  desk  five  hundred 
francs,  and  you  had  four  hundred  in  your  purse  when  you 


64  FILE    NO.    113. 

were  arrested.     So  that  altogether,  in  twenty-four  hours,  four 
thousand  five  hundred  francs — " 

Prosper  was  not  discountenanced,  but  stupefied. 

Not  being  aware  o£  the  powerful  means  of  investigation  pos* 
sessed  by  the  law,  he  wondered  how,  in  so  short  a  time,  the 
judge  could  have  obtained  such  accurate  information. 

"  Your  statement  is  correct,  monsieur,^'  he  said,  finally. 

"  Where  did  all  this  money  come  from?  The  evening  before 
you  had  so  little  that  you  were  obliged  to  defer  the  payment  of 
a  small  bill.'* 

"  The  day  to  which  you  allude,  I  sold,  through  an  agent, 
some  bonds  I  had,  about  three  thousand  francs;  besides,  1 
took  from  the  safe  two  thousand  francs  in  advance  on  my 
salary. " 

The  prisoner  had  given  clear  answers  to  all  the  questions 
put  to  him,  and  M.  Patrigent  thought  he  would  attack  him 
from  a  new  point. 

"  You  say  you  have  no  wish  to  conceal  any  of  your  actions; 
then  why  did  you  write  this  note  to  one  of  your  companions?^' 
Here  he  held  up  the  mysterious  note. . 

This  time  the  blow  struck.  Prosper *s  eyes  dropped  beforo 
the  inquiring  look  of  the  judge. 

"  I  thought, '^  he  stammered.     "  I  wished — " 

"You  wished  to  screen  this  woman!" 

"  Yes,  monsieur;  I  did.  I  knew  that  a  man  in  my  con- 
dition, accused  of  a  robbery,  has  every  fault,  every  weakness 
he  has  ever  indulged  in,  charged  against  him  as  a  great  crime.  ■" 

"  Which  means  that  you  knew  that  the  presence  of  a  woman 
at  your  house  would  tell  very  much  against  you,  and  that  jus- 
tice would  not  excuse  this  scandalous  defiance  of  public  moral- 
ity. A  man  who  respects  himself  so  little  as  to  associate  with 
a  worthless  woman  does  not  elevate  her  to  his  standard,  but 
he  descends  to  her  base  level.'* 

"  Monsieur!" 
I     *'  I  suppose  you  know  who  the  woman  is  whom  you  permi*; 
to  bear  the  honest  name  borne  by  your  mother?** 

"  Madame  Gipsy  was  a  governess  when  I  first  knew  her. 
She  was  born  at  Oporto,  and  came  to  France  with  a  Portu- 
guese family.  ** 

"  Her  name  is  not  Gipsy;  she  has  never  been  a  governess, 
and  she  is  not  a  Portuguese.  ** 

Prosper  began  to  protest  against  this  statement;  but  M. 
Patrigent  shrugged  his  shoulders,  and  began  looking  over  a 
large  file  of  papers  on  his  desk. 

*' Ah,  here  it  is,**  he  said,  *' listen;   Palmyre  Chocareille, 


FILE    NO.    118.  65 

born  at  Paris  in  1840,  daughter  of  James  Chocareille,  iinder= 
taker's  assistant,  and  of  Caroline  Piedlent,  his  wife.'* 

Prosper  looked  vexed  and  impatient;  he  did  not  know  that 
the  judge  was  reading  him  this  report  to  convince  him  that 
nothing  can  escape  the  police. 

"  Palmyre  Chocareille,''  he  continued,  "  at  twelve  years  of 
age  was  apprenticed  to  a  shoe-maker,  and  remained  with  him 
until  she  was  sixteen.  Traces  of  her  for  one  year  are  lost. 
At  the  age  of  seventeen  she  is  hired  as  a  servant  by  a  grocer 
on  the  Rue  St.  Denis,  named  Dombas,  and  remains  there  three 
months.  She  lives  out  during  this  same  year,  1857,  at  eight 
different  places.  In  1858  she  entered  the  store  of  a  fan- 
merchant  in  Choiseul  Alley." 

As  he  read,  the  judge  watched  Prosper's  face  to  observe  the 
effect  of  these  revelations. 

*'  Toward  the  close  of  1858  she  was  employed  as  a  servant 
by  Madame  Munes,  and  accompanied  her  to  Lisbon.  How 
long  she  remained  in  Lisbon,  and  what  she  did  while  she  re- 
mained there  is  not  reported.  But  in  1861  she  returned  to 
Paris,  and  was  sentenced  to  three  months'  imprisonment  for 
assault  and  battery.  Ah,  she  returned  from  Portugal  with  the 
name  of  Nina  Gipsy." 

"  But  I  assure  you,  monsieur — "  Prosper  began. 

*' Yes,  I  understand;  this  history  is  less  romantic,  doubt- 
less, than  the  one  related  to  you;  but  then  it  has  the  merit  of 
,being  true.  We  lose  sight  of  Palmyre  Chocareille,  called 
Gipsy,  upon  her  release  from  prison;  but  we  meet  her  again 
six  months  later,  having  made  the  acquaintance  of  a  traveling 
agent  named  Caldas,  who  became  infatuated  with  her  beauty, 
and  furnished  her  a  house  near  the  Bastile.  She  assumed  hia 
name  for  some  time,  then  she  deserted  him  to  devote  herself 
to  you.  Did  you  ever  hear  of  this  Caldas?" 
Never,  monsieur. " 

"  This  foolish  man  so  deeply  loved  this  creature  that  her 
desertion  drove  him  almost  insane  from  grief.  He  was  a  very 
resolute  man,  and  publicly  swore  that  he  would  kill  his  rival 
if  he  ever  found  him.  The  current  report  afterward  was,  that 
he  committed  suicide.  He  certainly  sold  the  furniture  of  tho 
house  occupied  by  Chocareille,  and  suddenly  disappeared.  All 
the  efforts  made  to  discover  him  proved  fruitless. " 

The  judge  stopped  a  moment,  as  if  to  give  Prosper  time 
for  reflection,  and  then  slowly  said: 

"  And  this  is  the  woman  whom  you  made  your  companioQ, 
the  woman  for  whom  you  robbed  the  bank?" 


66  PILE    NO.    113. 

Once  more  M.  Patrigent  was  on  the  wrong  track,  owing  to 
Fanferlot's  incomplete  information. 

He  had  hoped  that  Prosper  would  betray  himself  by  uttering 
some  passionate  retort  when  thus  wounded  to  the  quick; 
but  he  remained  impassible.  Of  all  the  judge  said  to  hira 
his  mind  dwelt  ipon  only  one  word — Caldas,  the  name  of  the 
poor  traveling  agent  who  had  killed  himself. 

"At  any  rate/'  insisted  M.  Patrigent,  "you  will  confess 
that  this  girl  has  caused  your  ruin. 

"  I  can  not  confess  that,  monsieur,  for  it  is  not  true.  ** 

"Yet  she  is  the  occasion  of  your  extravagance.  Listen.'* 
The  judge  here  drew  a  bill  from  the  file  of  papers.  "  During 
December  you  paid  her  dress-maker.  Van  Klopen,  for  two 
walking  dresses,  nine  hundred  francs;  one  evening  dress,  seven 
hundred  francs;  one  domino,  trimmed  with  lace,  seven  hun- 
dred francs. " 

"I  spent  this  money  cheerfully,  but  nevertheless  I  was 
not  especially  attached  to  her.'' 

M.  Patrigent  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"  You  can  not  deny  the  evidence,"  said  he.  **  I  suppose 
you  will  also  say  that  it  was  not  for  this  girl's  sake  you  ceased 
spending  your  evenings  at  Monsieur  Pauvel's." 

"  I  swear  that  she  was  not  the  cause  of  my  ceasing  to  visit 
Monsieur  Fauvel's  family." 

"  Then  why  did  you  cease  suddenly  your  attentions  to  a 
young  lady,  whom  you  confidently  expected  to  marry,  and 
whose  hand  you  had  written  to  your  father  to  demand  for 
you?" 

"  I  had  reasons  which  I  can  not  reveal,"  answered  Prosper, 
with  emotion. 

The  judge  breathed  freely;  at  last  he  had  discovered  a  val- 
nerable  point  in  the  prisoner's  armor. 

"  Did  Mademoiselle  Madeleine  banish  you?" 

Prosper  was  silent,  and  seemed  agitated. 

"  Speak,"  said  M.  Patrigent;  I  must  tell  you  that  thie 
circumstance  is  one  of  the  most  important  in  your  case." 

"  Whatever  the  cost  may  be,  on  this  subject  I  am  com- 
pelled to  keep  silence. " 

"  Beware  of  what  you  do;  justice  will  not  be  satisfied  with 
scruples  of  conscience." 

M.  Patrigent  waited  for  an  answer.     None  came. 

"  You  persist  in  your  obstinacy,  do  you?  Well,  we  will  go 
on  \o  the  next  question.  You  have,  during  the  last  year, 
spent  fifty  thousand  francs.     Your  resources  are  at  an  end. 


riuE  KO.  113.  67 

«nd  .your  credit  is  exhausted;  to  continue  your  mode  of  life 
was  impossible.     What  did  you  intend  to  do?" 

"  I  had  no  settled  plan.  I  thought  it  might  last  as  long  as 
It  would,  and  then  I — " 

"  And  then  you  would  draw  from  the  safe?" 

*'  Ah,  monsieur,  if  I  were  guilty,  I  should  not  be  here!  1 
should  never  have  been  such  a  fool  as  to  return  to  the  bank; 
I  should  have  fled." 

M.  Patrigent  could  not  restrain  a  smile  of  satisfaction,  and 
exclaimed: 

"  Exactly  the  argument  I  expected  you  to  use.  Yon 
showed  your  shrewdness  precisely  by  staying  to  face  the  storm, 
instead  of  flying  the  country.  Several  recent  suits  have 
taught  dishonest  cashiers  that  flight  abroad  is  dangerous. 
Railways  travel  fast,  but  telegrams  travel  faster.  A  French 
thief  can  be  arrested  in  London  within  forty-eight  hours  after 
his  description  has  been  telegraphed.  Even  America  is  no 
longer  a  refuge.  You  remained  prudently  and  wisely,  saying 
to  yourself,  '  I  will  manage  to  avoid  suspicion;  and,  even  if  I 
am  found  out,  I  shall  be  free  again  after  three  or  five  years 
seclusion,  with  a  large  fortune  to  enjoy.  ^  Many  people  would 
sacrifice  five  years  of  their  lives  for  three  hundred  and  fifty 
thousand  francs. " 

"  But,  monsieur,  had  I  calculated  in  the  manner  you  de- 
scribe, I  should  not  have  been  content  with  three  hundred  and 
fifty  thousand  francs;  I  should  have  waited  for  an  opportunity 
to  steal  half  a  million.     I  often  have  that  sum  in  charge. " 

"Oh!  it  is  not  always  convenient  to  wait.  " 

Prosper  was  buried  in  deep  thought  for  some  minutes. 

"  Monsieur,"  he  finally  said,  "  there  is  one  detail  I  forgot 
to  mention  before,  it  may  be  of  importance." 

"  Explain,  if  you  please." 

"  The  oflTice  messenger  whom  I  sent  to  the  Bank  of  France 
for  the  money  must  have  seen  me  tie  up  the  bundle,  and  put 
it  away  in  the  safe.  At  any  rate,  he  knows  that  I  left  the 
bank  before  he  did." 

"  Very  well;  the  man  shall  be  examined.  Now  you  can 
return  to  your  cell;  and  once  more  I  advise  you  to  consider 
the  consequences  of  your  persistent  denial." 

M.  Patrigent  thus  abruptly  dismissed  Prosper  because  he 
wished  to  immediately  act  upon  this  last  piece  of  information. 

"  Sigault,"  said  he,  as  soon  as  Prosper  had  left  the  room, 
**is  not  this  Antonin  the  man  who  was  excused  from  testify- 
ing because  he  sent  a  doctor's  certificate  declaring  him  too  ill 
to  appear?" 


88  FILE    KO.    113. 

"It  is,  monsieur.*' 

"  Where  does  he  liye?" 

"  Fanferlot  says  he  was  so  ill  that  he  was  taken  to  the  lv«<» 
pital — the  Dubois  Hospital." 

*  *  Very  well.  I  am  going  to  exainine  him  to-day,  this 
very  hour.  Take  your  pen  and  paper,  and  send  for  a  car- 
riage.'* 

It  was  some  distance  from  the  Palais  de  Justice  to  the 
Dubois  Hospital;  but  the  cabman,  urged  by  the  promise  of  a 
large  fee,  made  his  sorry  jades  fly  as  if  they  were  blooded 
horses. 

Would  Antonin  be  able  to  answer  any  questions? 

The  physician  in  charge  of  the  hospital  said,  that,  although 
the  man  suffered  horribly  from  a  broken  knee,  his  mind  was 
perfectly  clear. 

*'  That  being  the  case,  monsieur,'*  said  the  judge,  "  I  wish 
to  examine  him,  and  desire  that  no  one  be  admitted  while  he 
makes  his  deposition.**  . 

"  Oh!  you  will  not  be  intruded  upon,  monsieur;  his  room 
contains  four  beds,  but  they  are  just  now  unoccupied.** 

When  Antonin  saw  the  judge  enter,  followed  by  a  little 
weazen  man  in  black,  with  a  portfolio  under  his  arm,  he  at 
once  knew  what  he  had  come  for. 

"  Ah,*'  he  said,  "monsieur  comes  to  see  me  about  Mon- 
sieur Bertomy's  case?** 

"  Precisely.** 

M.  Patrigent  remained  standing  by  the  sick-bed  while 
Sigault  arranged  his  papers  on  a  little  table. 

In  answer  to  the  usual  questions  the  messenger  swore  that 
he  was  named  Antonin  Poche,  was  forty  years  old,  born  at 
Cadaujac  (Gironde),  and  was  unmarried. 

"  Now,**  said  the  judge,  "  are  you  well  enough  to  clearly 
answer  any  questions  I  may  put?** 

"  Certainly,  monsieur.*' 

"  Did  you,  on  the  27th  of  February,  go  to  the  Bank  of 
France  for  the  three  hundred  and  fifty  thousand  francs  that 
were  stolen?** 

"  Yes,  monsieur.** 

"  At  what  hour  did  you  return  with  the  money?** 

"  It  must  have  been  five  o'clock  when  I  got  back.** 

*'  Do  you  remember  what  Monsieur  Bertomy  did  when 
you  handed  him  the  notes?  Kow,  do  not  be  in  a  hurry; 
think  before  you  answer," 

"  Let  me  see;  first  he  counted  the  notes,  and  made  them 
into  four  packages-,  then  he  put  them  in  the  safe;  and  then 


PILE    NO,   113.  69 

—it  seems  to  me — and  then  he  locked  the  safe;  and,  yes,  I 
am  not  mistaken,  he  went  out!'* 

He  uttered  these  last  words  so  quickly,  that,  forgetting  his 
knee,  he  half  started  up;  but,  with  a  cry  of  pain,  sunk  back 
in  bed. 

"  Are  you  sure  of  what  you  say?''  asked  the  judge. 

M.  Patrigent's  solemn  tone  seemed  to  frighten  Antonin. 

*'  Sure?"  he  replied,  with  marked  hesitation,  "  I  would  bet 
my  head  on  it,  yet  I  am  not  sure!" 

It  was  impossible  for  him  to  be  more  decided  in  his  answers. 
He  had  been  frightened.  He  already  imagined  himself  in 
difficulty,  and  for  a  trifle  he  would  have  retracted  everything. 

But  the  effect  was  already  produced;  and  when  they  retired 
M.  Patrigent  said  to  Sigault: 

"  This  is  «.  very  important  piece  of  evidence." 


CHAPTER  VL 

The  Archangel  Hotel,  Mme.  Gipsy's  asylum,  was  the  most 
elegant  building  on  the  Quai  St.  Michel. 

A  person  who  pays  her  fortnight's  board  in  advance  is  treat- 
ed with  consideration  at  this  hotel. 

Mme.  Alexandre,  who  had  been  a  handsome  woman,  was 
now  stout,  laced  till  she  could  scarcely  breathe,  always  over- 
dressed, and  fond  of  wearing  a  number  of  flashy  gold  chains 
around  her  fat  neck. 

She  had  bright  eyes  and  white  teeth;  but,  alas,  a  red  nose. 
Of  all  her  weaknesses — and  Heaven  knows  she  had  indulged 
in  every  variety — only  one  remained;  she  loved  a  good  dinner, 
washed  down  with  plenty  of  good  wine. 

She  also  loved  her  husband;  and,  about  the  time  M.  Patri- 
gent  was  leaving  the  hospital,  she  began  to  be  worried  that 
hor  "  little  man  "  had  not  returned  to  dinner.  She  was  about 
to  sit  down  without  him,  when  the  hotel  boy  cried  out: 

"  Here  is  monsieur." 

And  Fanferlot  appeared  in  person. 

Three  years  before,  Fanferlot  had  kept  a  little  office  of  secret 
intelligence;  Mme.  Alexandre  was  a  trader  without  a  license 
in  perfumery  and  toilet  articles,  and,  finding  it  necessary  to 
watch  some  of  her  suspicious  customers,  engaged  Fanferlot'a 
services;  this  was  the  origin  of  their  acquaintance. 

If  they  went  through  the  marriage  ceremony  for  the  good  of 
the  mayoralty  and  the  church,  it  was  because  they  imagined 
it  would,  like  a  baptism,  wash  out  the  sins  of  the  past. 


70  FILE    1^0.   118. 

TJjton  this  momentous  day,  Fanferlot  gave  up  his  secret  in 
fceliigence  office,  and  entered  the  police,  where  he  had  alreadj 
been  occasionally  employed,  and  Mme.  Alexandre  retired  from 
trade. 

Unitin(^  their  savings  they  hired  and  furnished  the  Arch* 
angel,  which  they  were  now  carrying  on  prosperously  weli, 
esteemed  by  their  neighbors,  who  were  ignorant  of  Fanferlot*! 
connection  with  the  police  force. 

"  Why,  how  late  you  are,  my  little  man!"  she  exclaimed, 
as  she  dropped  her  knife  and  fork,  and  rushed  forward  to 
embrace  him. 

He  received  her  caresses  with  an  air  of  abstraction. 

"  My  back  is  broken,"  he  said.  "  I  have  been  the  whole 
day  playing  billiards  with  Evariste,  Monsieur  Fauvel's  valet, 
and  allowed  him  to  win  as  often  as  he  wished— a  man  who 
does  not  know  what  '  the  pool  '  is!  I  became  acquainted  with 
him  yesterday,  and  now  I  am  his  best  friend.  If  I  wish  to 
enter  Monsieur  Fauvel's  service  in  Antonin's  place,  I  can  rely 
upon  Monsieur  Evariste's  good  word.'* 

"  "What,  you  be  an  office  messenger;  you?" 

"  Of  course  I  would.  How  else  am  I  to  get  an  opportunity 
of  studying  my  characters  if  1  am  not  on  the  spot  to  watch 
them  all  the  time?" 

"  Then  tho  valet  gave  you  no  news?^* 

"  He  gave  me  none  that  I  could  make  use  of,  and  yet  I 
turned  him  inside  out,  like  a  glove.  This  banker  is  a  remark- 
able man;  you  don't  often  meet  with  one  of  his  sort  nowa- 
days. Evariste  says  he  has  not  a  single  vice,  not  even  a  little 
defect  by  which  Ms  valet  could  gain  ten  sous.  He  neither 
smokes,  drinks,  nor  plays;  in  fact,  he  is  a  saint.  Ue  is  worth 
millions,  and  lives  as  respectably  and  quietly  as  a  grocer.  He 
is  devoted  to  his  wife,  adores  his  childjen^  is  lavishly  hospits' 
ble,  and  seldom  goes  into  society.'* 

*'  Then  his  wife  is  young?*' 

**  She  must  be  about  fifty." 

Mme.  Alexandre  reflected  a  minute,  then  asked: 

**  Did  you  inquire  about  the  other  members  of  the  family?" 

**  Certainly.  The  younger  son  is  in  the  array.  Tho  elder 
son,  Lucien,  lives  with  his  parents,  and  is  as  proper  as  « 
young  lady;  so  good,  indeed,  that  he  is  stupid." 

*'  And  what  about  the  niece?" 

"  Evariste  could  tell  me  nothing  about  her.** 

Mme.  Alexandre  shrugged  her  fat  shoulders. 

**  If  you  have  discovemi  nothing,  it  is  because  Uiere  is  ncHSth 


PILE    NO,   lis.  71 

ing  to  be  discovered.    Still  do  you  Icnow  what  I  would  do,  if 
I  were  you?" 

"Tell  me.** 

*'  I  would  consult  Monsieur  Lecoq.** 

Fauferlofc  jumped  up  as  if  he  had  been  shot. 

**  Now,  that's  pretty  advice!  Do  you  want  me  to  lose  my 
place?  Monsiear  Lecoq  does  not  suspect  that  I  have  anything 
to  do  with  the  case  except  to  obey  his  orders.  *' 

"  Noboily  told  you  to  let  him  know  you  were  investigating 
it  on  your  own  account.  You  can  consult  him  with  an  air  of 
Indifference,  as  if  you  were  not  at  all  interested;  and,  after 
you  have  got  his  opinion,  you  can  take  advantage  of  it.** 

The  detective  weighed  his  wife's  words,  and  then  said: 

*'  Perhaps  you  are  right;  yet  Monsieur  Lecoq  is  so  devilishly 
shrewd  that  he  might  see  through  me.*' 

"  Shrewd!'*  echoed  Mme.  Alexandre,  **  shrewd!  All  of 
you  at  the  police  office  say  that  so  often,  that  he  has  gained 
his  reputation  by  it;  you  are  just  as  sharp  as  he  is.** 

"  Well,  we  will  see.  I  will  think  the  matter  over;  but,  in 
the  meantime,  what  does  the  girl  say?** 

The  "  girl  "  was  Mme.  Nina  Gipsy. 

In  taking  up  her  abode  at  the  Archangel,  the  poor  girl 
thought  she  was  following  good  advice;  and,  as  Fanferlot  had 
never  appeared  in  her  presence  since,  she  was  still  under  the 
impression  that  she  had  obeyed  a  friend  of  Prosper's.  When 
she  received  her  summons  from  M.  Patrigent,  she  admired  the 
wonderful  skill  of  the  police  in  discovering  her  hiding-place; 
for  she  had  established  herself  at  the  hotel  under  a  false  or, 
rather,  her  true  name,  Palmyre  Chocareille. 

Artfully  questioned  by  her  inquisitive  landlady,  she  had, 
without  any  mistrust,  confided  her  history  to  her. 

Thus  Fanferlot  was  able  to  impress  the  judge  with  the  idea 
of  his  being  a  skillful  detective,  when  he  pretended  to  have 
discovered  all  this  information  from  a  variety  of  sources. 

"  She  is  still  upstairs,**  answered  Mme.  Alexandre.  *'  She 
suspects  nothing;  but  to  keep  her  in  her  present  ignorance 
becomes  daily  more  difficult.  I  don*t  know  what  the  judge 
told  her,  but  she  came  home  quite  beside  herself  with  anger. 
She  wanted  to  go  and  make  a  fuss  at  Monsieur  Fauvel's;  then 
she  wrote  a  letter  which  she  told  Jean  to  post  for  her;  but  I 
kept  it  to  show  you.*' 

"  What!**  interrupted  Fanferlot,  **  you  have  a  letter,  and 
did  not  tell  me  before?  Perhaps  it  contains  the  clew  to  the 
mystery.     Give  it  to  me,  quick." 


79  JrtB  NO.  113. 

Obejring  her  husband,  Mme.  Alexandre  opened  a  little  cap 
board,  and  took  out  a  letter  which  she  handed  to  him. 

*'  Here,  take  it,*'  she  said,  "  and  be  satisfied.*' 

Considering  that  she  used  to  be  a  chamber-maid,  Palmyw 
rhocareille,  since  become  Mne.  Gipsy,  wrote  a  good  letter. 

It  bore  the  following  address,  written  in  a  free,  flowing  hand; 

For  M.  L.  DE  Clamerak, 

Forge- Master,  Hotel  du  Louvre. 
To  be  handed  to  M.  Raoul  de  Lagors. 

(In  great  haste.) 

"  Oh,  hoi"  said  Fanferlot,  accompanying  his  explanation 
with  a  little  whistle,  as  was  his  habit  when  he  thought  he  had 
made  a  grand  discovery.     '^  Oh,  ho!" 

*'  Do  you  intend  to  open  it?"  questioned  Mme.  Alexandre. 

*'  A  little  bit,"  said  Fanferlot,  as  he  dexterously  opened  the 
envelope. 

Mme.  Alexandre  leaned  over  her  husband's  shoulder,  and 
they  both  read  the  following  letter: 

**  Monsieur  Raoul, — Prosper  is  in  prison,  accused  of  a 
robbery  which  he  never  committed.  I  wrote  to  you  three 
days  ago. " 

"What!"  interrupted  Fanferlot,  "this  silly  girl  wrote, 
and  I  never  saw  the  letter!" 

"  But,  little  man,  she  must  have  posted  it  herself,  the  day 
she  went  to  the  Palais  de  Justice." 

"  Very  likely,"  said  Fanferlot,  propitiated.  He  continued 
reading: 

**  I  wrote  to  yon  three  days  ago,  and  have  no  reply.  Who 
will  help  Prosper  if  his  best  friends  desert  him?  If  you  don't 
answer  this  letter,  I  shall  consider  myself  released  from  a  cer- 
tain promise,  and  without  scruple  will  tell  Prosper  of  the  con* 
versation  1  overheard  between  you  and  Monsieur  de  Clameran. 
But  I  can  count  on  you,  can  I  not?  I  shall  expect  you  at  the 
Archangel  day  after  to-morrow,  between  twelve  and  four. 

"Nina  Gipsy." 

The  letter  read,  Fanferlot  at  once  proceeded  to  copy  it. 

"  Well,"  said  Mme.  Alexandre,  "  what  do  you  think?" 

Fanferlot  was  delicately  resealing  the  letter,  when  the  door 
of  the  hotel  office  was  abruptly  opened,  and  the  boy  twio« 
whispered:  "  Pst!     Pst!" 

Fanferlot  rapidly  disappeared  into  a  dark  closet    He  had 


MtE  KO.  113.  tJ 

barely  time  to  close  the  door  before  Mme.  Gipsy  entered  thi 
room. 

The  poor  girl  was  sadly  changed.  She  was  pale  and  hollow* 
cheeked,  and  her  eyes  were  red  with  weeping. 

On  seeing  her,  Mme.  Alexandre  could  not  conceal  her  sur* 
prise. 

"  Why,  my  child,  you  are  not  going  out?" 

"  I  am  obliged  to  do  so,  madame;  and  I  came  to  ask  you  ta 
tell  any  one  that  may  call  during  my  absence  to  wait  until  J 
return.'* 

"  But  where  in  the  world  are  you  going  at  this  hour,  sick 
as  you  are?" 

For  a  moment  Mme.  Gipsy  hesitated. 

"  Oh!"  she  said,  "  you  are  so  kind  that  I  am  tempted  to 
confide  in  you;  read  this  note  which  a  messenger  just  now 
brought  to  me. " 

"  VVhat!"  cried  Mme.  Alexandre,  perfectly  aghast;  "a 
messenger  enter  my  house,  and  go  up  to  your  room!" 

"  Is  there  anything  surprising  in  that?'* 

**  No,  oh,  no!  nothing  surprising." 

And  in  a  tone  loud  enough  to  be  heard  in  the  closet  she 
redd  the  note: 

*'  A  friend  of  Prosper,  who  can  neither  receive  you,  nor 
present  himself  at  your  house,  is  very  anxious  to  speak  to  you. 
Be  in. the  stage  ofiBce  opposite  the  Saint  Jacques  tower,  to- 
night at  nine  precisely,  and  the  writer  will  approach,  and  tell 
you  what  he  has  to  say. 

'' I  have  appointed  this  public  place  for  the  rendezvous  so 
as  to  relieve  your  mind  of  all  fear. 

**  And  you  are  going  to  this  rendezvonsP" 
\     **  Certainly,  madame.  ** 

"  But  it  is  imprudent,  foolish;  it  is  a  snare  to  entrap  yoo." 

"  It  makes  no  difference,**  interrupted  Gipsy.  *'  I  am  so 
unfortunate  already  that  I  have  nothing  more  to  dread.  Any 
change  would  be  a  relief.** 

And,  without  waiting  to  hear  any  more,  she  went  out.  Tlia 
door  had  scarcely  closed  upon  Mme.  Gipsy,  before  Fanferlot 
bounced  out  of  the  closet. 

The  mild  detective  was  white  with  rage,  and  swore  vio- 
lently. 

"  What  is  the  meaning  of  this?*'  he  cried.  **  Am  I  if 
stand  by  and  have  people  walking  over  the  Archangel,  as  if  it 
were  a  public  streets* 


74  FILE    NO.   113L 

Mme.  Alexandre  stood  trembling,  and  dared  not  speak. 

"  Was  ever  such  impudence  heard  of  before?"  he  contin* 
ned.  "  A  messenger  comes  into  my  house,  and  goes  upstain 
without  being  seen  by  anybody!  I  will  look  into  this.  And 
the  idea  of  you,  ]\fadame  Alexandre,  you,  a  sensible  woman, 
being  idiotic  enough  to  persuade  that  little  Tiper  not  to  keep 
the  appointment r* 

**  But,  my  dear — " 

**  Had  you  not  sense  enough  to  know  that  I  would  follow 
her,  and  discover  what  she  is  attempting  to  conceal?  Come, 
make  haste  and  help  me,  so  that  she  won't  recognize  me.  *' 

In  a  few  minutes  Fanferlot  was  completely  disguised  by  a 
thick  beard,  a  wig,  and  one  of  those  long  linen  blouses  worn 
by  dishonest  workmen,  who  go  about  seeking  labor,  and  at  the 
same  time  hoping  they  may  not  find  any. 

"  Have  you  your  handcuffs?"  asked  the  solicitons  Mme. 
Alexandre. 

**  Yes,  yes;  make  haste  and  put  that  letter  to  Monsieur  de 
Clameran  in  the  post-office,  and — and  keep  good  watch." 

And  without  waiting  for  his  wife's  reply,  who  cried  out, 
**  Good  luck!"  Fanferlot  darted  into  the  street. 

Mme.  Gipsy  had  ten  minutes'  start  of  him;  but  he  ran  up 
the  street  he  knew  she  must  have  taken,  and  overtook  her  near 
the  Change  Bridge. 

She  was  walking  with  the  uncertain  gait  of  a  person  who, 
impatient  to  be  at  a  rendezvous,  has  started  too  soon,  and  if 
obliged  to  occupy  the  intervening  time;  she  would  walk  very 
rapidly,  then  retrace  her  footsteps,  and  proceed  slowly. 

On  Chatelet  Place  she  strolled  up  and  down  several  times, 
read  the  theater-bills,  and  finally  took  a  seat  on  a  bench.  One 
minute  before  a  quarter  of  nine  she  entered  the  stage  office 
and  sat  down. 

A  moment  after,  Fanferlot  entered;  but  as  he  feared  that 
Mme.  Gipsy  mignt  recognize  him  in  spite  of  his  heavy  beard, 
ne  took  a  seat  at  the  opposite  end  of  tne  room,  in  a  dark  cor- 
ner. 

*'  Singular  place  fo\  a  conversation,"  he  thought,  as  he 
watched  the  young  woman.  "  Who  in  the  world  could  have 
made  this  appointment  in  a  stage-office?  Judging  from  her 
evident  curiosity  and  uneasiness,  1  could  swear  she  has  not  the 
faintest  idea  for  whom  she  is  waiting." 

Meanwhile,  the  office  was  gradually  filling  with  people. 
Every  minute  a  man  would  shriek  out  the  destination  of  an 
omnibus  which  had  just  arrived*  and  the  bewildered  passeQ* 


PILE  NO.  113;  75 

gers  would  rush  in  to  get  tickets,  and  inquire  when  the  omni- 
bus would  leave. 

As  each  new-comer  entered,  Gipsy  would  tremble,  and  Fan- 
ferlot  would  say,  "  This  is  he!'* 

Finally,  as  the  Hotel  de  Ville  clock  was  striking  nine,  a 
man  entered,  and,  without  going  to  the  ticket  window,  walked 
directly  up  to  Gipsy,  bowed,  and  took  a  seat  .beside  her. 

He  was  a  medium-sized  man,  rather  stout,  with  a  crimson 
face,  and  fiery-red  whiskers.  His  dress  was  that  of  a  well-to- 
do  merchant,  and  there  was  nothing  in  his  manner  or  appear- 
ance to  excite  attention. 

Fanferlot  watched  him  eagerly. 

"  Well,  my  friend,'"  he  said  to  himself,  "  in  future  I  shall 
recognize  you,  no  matter  where  we  meet;  and  this  very  even- 
ing I  will  find  out  who  you  are. " 

Despite  his  intent  listening,  he  could  not  hear  a  word  spoken 
by  the  stranger  or  Gipsy.  All  he  could  do  was  to  judge  by 
their  pantomime  and  countenances  what  the  subject  of  their 
conversation  might  be. 

When  the  stout  man  bowed  and  spoke  to  her,  the  girl 
looked  so  surprised  that  it  was  evident  she  had  never  seen  him 
before.  When  he  sat  down  by  her,  and  said  a  few  words,  she 
jumped  up  with  a  frightened  look,  as  if  seeking  to  escape.  A 
single  word  and  look  made  her  resume  her  seat.  Then,  as  the 
stout  man  went  on  talking,  Gipsy's  t,.iitude  betrayed  great 
apprehension.  She  positively  refused  to  do  something;  then 
suddenly  she  seemed  to  consent,  when  he  stated  a  good  reason 
for  her  so  doing.  At  one  moment  she  appeared  ready  to  weep, 
and  the  next  her  pretty  face  wad  illumined  by  a  bright  smile. 
Finally,  she  shook  hands  with  him,  as  if  she  was  confirming  a 
promise. 

"  What  can  all  that  mean?"  said  Fanferlot  to  himself,  as 
he  sat  in  his  dark  corner,  biting  his  nails.  "  What  an  idiot  I 
am  to  have  stationed  myself  so  far  off!" 

He  was  thinking  how  he  could  manage  to  approach  nearer 
without  arousing  their  suspicions,  when  the  fat  man  arose, 
offered  his  arm  to  Mme.  Gipsy  who  accepted  it  without  hesita- 
tion, and  together  they  walked  toward  the  door. 

They  were  so  engrossed  with  each  other  that  Fanferlot 
thought  he  could,  without  risk,  follow  them;  and  it  was  well 
he  did ;  for  the  crowd  was  dense  outside,  and  he  would  soon 
have  lost  them. 

Eeaching  the  door,  he  saw  the  stout  man  and  Gipsy  croiSj 
the  pavement,  approach  a  hackney-coach,  and  enter  it. 


re  FILE  NO.  113. 

**  Very  good,"  muttered  Fanferlot,  **  I*ve  got  them  now. 
There  is  no  use  of  hurrying  anymore/* 

While  the  coachman  was  gathering  up  his  reins,  Fanferlot 
prepared  his  legs;  and,  when  the  coach  started,  he  followed  in 
a  brisk  trot,  determined  upon  following  it  to  the  end  of  th« 
earth. 

The  cab  went  up  the  Boulevard  Sebastopol.  It  went  pretty 
fast;  but  it  was  not  for  nothing  that  Fanferlot  had  won  tha 
name  of  *'  squirrel/'  With  his  elbows  glued  to  his  sides,  and 
holding  his  breath,  he  ran  on. 

By  the  time  he  had  reached  the  Boulevard  St.  Denis,  he  be- 
gan to  get  breathless  and  stiff  from  a  pain  in  his  side.  The 
cabman  abruptly  turned  into  the  Rue  Faubourg  St.  Martin. 

But  Fanferlot,  who,  at  eight  years  of  age,  had  been  familiar 
with  evei-y  street  in  Paris,  was  not  to  be  baffled;  he  was  a  man 
of  resources.  He  seized  the  springs  of  the  coach,  raised 
himself  up  by  the  strength  of  his  wrists,  and  hung  on  behind, 
with  his  legs  resting  on  the  axle-tree  of  the  back  wheels.  He 
was  not  quite  comfortable,  but  then,  he  no  longer  ran  the  risk 
of  being  distanced. 

"  Now,''  he  chuckled  behind  his  false  beard,  *'  you  may 
drive  as  fast  as  you  please.  Monsieur  Cabby." 

The  man  whipped  up  his  horses,  and  drove  furiously  along 
the  hilly  street  of  the  Faubourg  St.  Martin. 

Finally  the  cab  stopped  in  front  of  a  wine-store,  and  the 
driver  jumped  down  from  his  seat,  and  went  in. 

The  detective  also  left  his  uncomfortable  post,  and,  crouch- 
ing in  a  door-way,  waited  for  Gipsy  and  her  companion  to  get 
out,  with  the  intention  of  following  close  upon  their  heels. 

Five  minutes  passed,  and  still  there  were  no  signs  of  them. 
, "  What  can  they  be  doing  all  this  time?"  grumbled  the  de- 
tective. 

With  great  precautions,  he  approached  the  cab,  and  peeped 
in. 

Oh,  cruel  deception!  it  was  empty. 

Fanferlot  felt  as  if  some  one  had  thrown  a  bucket  of  ice- 
water  over  him;  he  remained  rooted  to  the  spot  with  hia 
mouth  stretched,  the  picture  of  blank  bewilderment. 

He  soon  recovered  his  wit  sufficiently  to  burst  forth  in  a 
volley  of  oaths,  loud  enough  to  rattle  all  the  window-panes  in 
the  neighborhood. 

"  Tricked!"  he  said,  "  fooled!  Ah,  but  won't  I  make  them 
pay  for  this!" 

In  a  moment  his  quick  mind  had  run  over  the  gamut  of  poa 
sibilities,  probable  and  improbable 


FILE    NO.    113.  7t 

"  Evidently/'  he  muttered,  "  this  fellow  and  Gipsy  entered 
one  door  and  got  out  of  the  other;  the  trick  is  simple  enough. 
If  they  resorted  to  it,  'tis  because  they  feared  being  watched. 
If  they  feared  being  watched,  they  have  uneasy  consciences; 
therefore — '* 

He  suddenly  interrupted  his  monologue  as  the  idea  struck 
him  that  he  had  better  attempt  to  find  out  something  from 
the  driver. 

Unfortunately,  the  driver  was  in  a  very  surly  mood,  and  not 
only  refused  to  answer,  but  shook  his  whip  in  so  threatening  a 
manner  that  Fanferlot  deemed  it  prudent  to  beat  a  retreat. 

"  Oh,  Lord,''  he  muttered,  "  perhaps  he  and  the  driver  are 
one  and  the  same!" 

But  what  could  he  do  now,  at  this  time  of  night?  He  could 
not  imagine.  He  walked  dejectedly  back  to  the  quai,  and  it 
was  half  past  eleven  when  he  reached  his  own  door. 

"  Has  the  little  fool  returned?"  he  inquired  of  Mme.  Alex- 
andre, the  instant  she  opened  the  door  for  him. 

"  No;  but  here  are  two  large  bundles  which  have  come  for 
her." 

Fanferlot  hastily  opened  the  bundles. 

They  contained  three  calico  dresses,  some  coarse  shoes,  and 
some  linen  caps. 

"  Well,"  said  the  detective,  in  a  vexed  tone,' "now  she  is 
going  to  disguise  herself.  Upon  my  word,  I  am  getting  puz- 
zled!    What  can  she  be  up  to?" 

When  Fanferlot  was  sulkily  walking  down  the  Faubourg  St. 
Martin,  he  had  fully  made  up  his  mind  that  he  would  not  tell 
his  wife  of  his  discomfiture. 

But  once  at  home,  confronted  with  a  new  fact  of  a  nature  to 
negative  all  his  conjectures,  his  vanity  disappeared.  He  con- 
fessed everything — his  hopes  so  nearly  realized,  his  strange 
mischance,  and  his  suspicions. 

They  talked  the  matter  over,  and  finally  decided  that  they 
would  not  go  to  bed  until  Mme.  Gipsy,  from  whom  Mme,  Alex- 
andre was  determined  to  obtain  an  explanation  of  what  had 
happened,  returned.  At  one  o'clock  the  worthy  couple  were 
about  giving  over  all  hope  of  her  reappearance,  when  they 
heard  the  bell  ring. 

Fanferlot  instantly  slipped  into  the  closet,  and  Mme.  Alex- 
andre remained  in  the  office  to  receive  Gipsy. 

"  Here  you  are  at  last,  my  dear  child!"  she  cried.  "  Oh, 
I  have  been  so  uneasy,  so  afraid  lest  some  misfortune  had  hap* 
pened!" 


73  FILE    NO.    113. 

"  Thanks  for  your  kind  interest,  madame.  Has  a  bundle 
been  sent  here  for  me?^' 

Poor  Gipsy's  appearance  had  strikingly  changed ;  she  was 
yery  sad,  but  not  as  before  dejected.  To  her  melancholy  of 
the  last  few  days  had  succeeded  a  firm  and  generous  resolu- 
tion, which  was  betrayed  in  her  sparkling  eyes  and  resolute 
step. 

"  Yes,  two  bundles  came  for  you;  here  they  are.  I  suppose 
you  saw  Monsieur  Bertomy's  friend?'' 

"  Yes,  madame;  and  his  advice  has  so  changed  my  plans, 
that,  I  regret  to  say,  I  must  leave  you  to-morrow." 

"  Going  away  to-morrowl  then  something  must  have  hap- 
pened. ' ' 

"Oh!  nothing  that  would  interest  you,  madame." 

After  lighting  her  candle  at  the  gas-burner,  Mme.  (lipsy 
said  "  Good-night  "  in  a  very  significant  way,  and  left  the 
room. 

"  And  what  do  you  think  of  that,  Madame  Alexandre?" 
questioned  Fanferlot,  emerging  from  his  hiding-place. 

'*  It  is  incredible!  This  girl  writes  to  Monsieur  de  Clame- 
ran  to  meet  her  here,  and  then  does  not  wait  for  him." 

"  She  evidently  mistrusts  us;  she  knows  who  I  am." 

*'  Then  this  friend  of  the  cashier  must  have  told  her." 

"  Nobody  knows  who  told  her.  I  shall  end  by  believing 
that  I  am  among  a  gang  of  thieves.  They  think  I  am  on 
their  track,  and  are  trying  to  escape  me.  I  should  not  be  at 
all  surprised  if  this  little  rogue  has  the  money  herself,  and  in- 
tends to  run  off  with  it  to-morrow." 

"  That  is  not  my  opinion;  but  listen  to  me:  you  had  better 
take  my  advice,  and  consult  Monsieur  Lecoq." 

Fanferlot  meditated  awhile,  then  exclaimed: 

'*  Very  well:  I  will  see  him,  just  for  your  satisfaction;  be- 
cause I  know  that  if  I  have  discovered  nothing  neither  has 
he.  But,  if  he  undertakes  to  be  domineering,  it  won't  do; 
for,  if  he  shows  his  insolence  to  me,  I  will  make  him  know  his 
place. " 

Notwithstanding  this  brave  speech,  the  detective  passed  an 
uneasy  night,  and  at  six  o'clock  the  next  morning  he  was  up 
— it  was  necessary  to  rise  very  early  if  he  wished  to  catch  M. 
Lecoq  at  home — and,  refreshed  by  a  cup  of  strong  coffee,  he 
directed  his  steps  toward  the  dwelling  of  the  celebrated  detect- 
ive. 

Fanferlot  the  "  squirrel"  certainly  was  not  afraid  of  his 
patron,  as  he  called  him :  for  he  started  out  with  his  nose  in 
the  air,  and  his  hat  cocked  on  one  «ide. 


FILE    NO.    113.  79 

But  by  the  time  he  reached  the  Rue  Montmartre,  where  M. 
Lecoq  lived,  his  courage  had  vanished;  he  pulled  his  hat  over 
his  eyes,  aud  hung  his  head,  as  if  looking  for  relief  among  the 
paving-stones.  He  slowly  ascended  the  steps,  pausing  several 
times,  and  looking  around  as  if  he  would  like  to  fly. 

Finally  he  reached  the  third  floor,  and  stood  before  a  door 
decorated  with  the  arms  of  the  famous  detective — a  cock,  the 
symbol  of  vigilance — and  his  heart  failed  him  so  that  he  had 
scarcely  the  courage  to  ring  the  bell. 

The  door  was  opened  by  Janouille,  M.  Lecoq 's  old  servant, 
who  had  very  much  the  manner  and  appearance  of  a  grena- 
dier. She  was  as  faithful  to  her  master  as  a  watch-dog,  and 
always  stood  ready  to  attack  any  one  who  did  not  treat  him 
with  the  august  respect  which  she  considered  his  due. 

'*  Well,  Monsieur  Fanferlot,^'  she  said,  "  you  come  in  time 
for  once  in  your  life.     Your  patron  wants  to  see  you. " 

Upon  this  announcement  Fanferlot  was  seized  with  a  vio- 
lent desire  to  retreat.  By  what  chance  could  Lecoq  want  any- 
thing of  him? 

While  he  thus  hesitated,  Janouille  seized  him  by  the  arm, 
and  pulled  him  in,  saying: 

"  Do  you  want  to  take  root  there?  Come  along,  your  patron 
is  waiting  for  you.'' 

In  the  middle  of  a  large  room  curiously  furnished,  half  li- 
brary, and  half  greenroom,  was  seated  at  a  desk  the  same 
person  with  gold  spectacles,  who  had  said  to  Prosper  at  the 
police -ofi&ce.      Have  courage.*' 

This  was  M.  Lecoq  in  his  official  character. 

Upon  Fanferlot's  entrance,  as  he  advanced  respectfully, 
bowing  till  his  backbone  was  a  perfect  curve,  M.  Lecoq  laid 
down  his  pen,  and  said,  looking  sharply  at  him: 

"  Ah,  here  you  are,  young  man.  Well,  it  seems  you  haven't 
made  much  progress  in  the  Bertomy  case. " 

"Why,"  murmured  Fanferlot,  "you  know  that — " 

*'  I  know  that  you  have  muddled  everything  until  you  can't 
see  your  way  out,  so  that  you  are  ready  to  give  up." 

"  But,  Monsieur  Lecoq,  it  was  not  I — " 

M.  Lecoq  arose,  and  walked  up  and  down  the  room;  sud- 
denly he  confronted  Fanferlot,  and  said,  in  a  tone  of  scornful 
irony: 

"  What  would  you  think.  Master  Squirrel,  of  a  man  who 
abuses  the  confidence  of  those  who  employ  him,  who  reveals 
just  enough  to  lead  the  prosecution  on  the  wrong  scent,  who 
sacrifices  to  his  own  foolish  vanity  the  cause  of  justice  and  tb« 
liberty  of  an  unfortunate  man?" 


80  FILE   KO.    113. 

Fanferlot  started  back  with  a  frightened  look. 
*'  I  should  say,"  he  stammered,      I  should  say — " 
'*  You  would  say  this  mau  ought  to  be  punished,  tnd  dis« 
missed  from  his  employment;  and  you  are  right.     The  less  9 

Erofession  is  honored,  the  more  honorable  should  those  be  who 
along  to  it.  And  yet  you  have  been  false  to  yours.  Ah! 
Master  Fanferlot,  we  are  ambitious,  and  we  try  to  make  the 
police  force  serve  our  own  views!  We  let  Justice  stray  her 
way,  and  we  go  ours.  One  must  be  a  more  cunning  blood- 
hound than  you  are,  my  friend,  to  be  able  to  hunt  without  a 
huntsman.     You  are  too  self-reliant  by  half. " 

*'  But,  patron,  I  swear — " 

"  Silence!  Do  you  pretend  to  say  that  you  did  your  duty, 
and  told  all  to  the  judge  of  instruction?  Whilst  others  were 
informing  against  the  cashier,  you  undertook  to  inform  against 
the  banker.  You  watched  hjs  movements;  you  became  inti- 
mate with  his  valet. " 

Was  M.  Lecoq  really  angry,  or  pretending  to  he?  Fanfer- 
lot, who  knew  him  well,  was  puzzled  to  know  whether  all  this 
indignation  was  real. 

"  If 'you  wftre  only  skillful,"  he  continued.  '*  But  no:  you 
wish  to  be  a  master,  and  you  are  not  fit  to  be  a  journeyman.'' 

"  You  are  right,  patron,'*  said  Fanferlot,  piteously,  for  he 
saw  that  it  was  useless  for  him  to  deny  anything.  "  But  how 
could  I  go  about  an  affair  like  this,  where  there  was  not  even 
a  trace  or  sign  to  start  from?" 

M.  Lecoq  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

**  You  are  an  ass!  Why,  don't  you  know  that  on  the  very 
day  you  were  sent  for  with  the  commissary  to  verify  the  rob- 
bery, you  held — I  do  not  say  certainly,  but  very  probably  held 
— in  your  great  stupid  hands,  the  means  of  knowing  which 
key  had  been  used  when  the  money  was  stolen?" 

"  How?     What?" 

"  You  want  to  know,  do  you?  I  will  tell  you.  Do  you  re- 
member the  scratch  you  discovered  on  the  safe-door?  You 
were  so  struck  by  it,  that  you  exclaimed  directly  you  saw  it. 
You  carefully  examined  it,  and  were  convinced  that  it  was  a 
fresh  scratch,  only  a  few  hours  old.  You  thought,  and  rightly 
too,  that  this  scratch  was  made  at  the  time  of  the  theft.  Now, 
with  what  was  it  made?  Evidently  with  a  key.  That  being 
the  case,  you  should  have  asked  for  the  keys  both  of  the  banker 
ind  the  cashier.  One  of  them  would  have  had  some  particles 
Df  the  hard  green  paint  sticking  to  it." 

Fanferlot  listened  with  open  mouth  to  this  explanation.    At 


FILE   ISO.    113L  8] 

the  last  words,  he  violently  slapped  his  forehead  with  hit  hand, 
«nd  cried  out: 

"  Imbecilel    Imbecilel** 

"  You  have  rightly  named  yourself,"  said  M.  Lecoq.  **  Im- 
becile! This  proof  stares  you  right  in  the  face,  and  you  don't 
Bee  it!  This  scratch  is  the  sole  and  only  clew  to  work  the  case 
upon,  and  you  must  go  and  lose  the  traces  of  it.  If  I  find  the 
guilty  party,  it  will  be  by  means  of  this  scratch;  and  I  am  de- 
termined that  I  will  find  him.'* 

At  a  distance  the  squirrel  very  bravely  abused  and  defied 
M.  Lecoq;  but,  in  his  presence,  he  yielded  to  the  influence 
which  this  extraordinary  man  exercised  upon  all  who  ap- 
proached him. 

This  exact  information,  these  minute  details  of  all  his  secret 
movements,  and  even  thoughts,  so  upset  his  mind  that  he 
could  not  think  where  and  how  M.  Lecoq  had  obtained  them. 
Finally  he  said,  humbly: 

**  You  must  have  been  looking  up  this  case,  patron?** 

**  Probably  I  have;  but  I  am  not  infallible,  and  may  have 
overlooked  some  important  evidence.  Take  a  seat,  and  tell 
me  all  you  know,  ** 

M.  Lecoq  was  not  the  man  to  be  hoodwinked,  so  Fanferlot 
told  the  exact  truth,  a  rare  thing  for  him  to  do.  However,  as 
he  reached  the  end  of  his  statement,  a  feeling  of  mortified 
vanity  prevented  his  telling  how  he  had  been  fooled  by  Gipsy 
and  the  stout  man. 

Unfortunately  for  poor  Fanferlot,  M.  Lecoq  was  always 
fully  informed  on  every  subject  in  which  he  interested  him* 
self. 

**  It  seems  to  me.  Master  Squirrel,  that  you  have  forgotten 
something.     How  far  did  you  follow  the  empty  coach?'* 

Fanferlot  blushed,  and  hung  his  head  like  a  guilty  school- 
boy. 

"  Oh,  patron!"  he  cried,  "  and  you  know  about  that  too! 
How  could  you  have — ** 

But  a  sudden  idea  flashed  across  his  brain;  he  stopped  short, 
bounded  off  his  chair,  and  cried: 

*_*  Oh!  I  know  now;  yoa  were  the  large  gentleman  with  red 
whiskers. " 

His  surprise  gave  so  singular  an  expression  to  his  face  that 
M.  Lecoq  could  not  restrain  a  smile. 

*'  Then  it  was  you,**  continued  the  bewildcired  detective; 
**  you  are  the  large  gentleman  at  whom  I  stared,  so  as  to  im- 
press his  appearance  upon  my  mind,  and  I  never  recognized 


82  PILE    KO.   113. 

joul  Patron  vou  would  make  a  superb  hctor,  if  you  would  gt 
on  the  stage;  but  I  was  disguised  too — very  well  disguised. " 

**  Very  poorly  disguised;  it  is  only  just  to  you  that  I  should 
let  you  know  what  a  failure  it  was,  Fanferlot.  Do  you  think 
that  a  heavy  beard  and  a  blouse  are  a  sufficient  transforma- 
tion? The  eye  is  the  thing  to  be  changed — the  eye!  The  art 
lies  iu  being  able  to  change  the  eye.     That  is  the  secret. " 

This  theory  of  disguise  explained  why  the  lynx-eyed  Lecoq 
never  appeared  at  the  police-office  without  his  gold  spectaclea 

**  Then,  patron,*'  said  Fanferlot,  clinging  to  his  idea,  "  you 
have  been  more  successful  than  Madame  Alexandre;  you  have 
made  the  little  girl  confess?  You  know  why  she  leaves  the 
Archangel,  why  she  does  not  wait  for  Monsieur  de  Clameran, 
and  why  she  bought  calico  dresses?" 

**  She  is  following  my  advice.'* 

**  That  being  the  case,**  said  the  detective,  dejectedly, 
**  there  is  nothing  left  for  me  to  do,  but  to  acknowledge  my- 
self an  ass.** 

"No,  Squirrel!**  said  M.  Lecoq,  kindly,  "you  are  not  an 
ass.  You  merely  did  wrong  in  undertaking  a  task  beyond  your 
capacity.  Have  you  progressed  one  step  since  you  started  in 
this  affair?  No.  That  shows  that,  although  you  are  incom- 
parable as  a  lieutenant,  you  do  not  possess  the  qualities  of  a 
general.  I  am  going  to  present  you  with  an  aphorism;  re- 
member it,  and  let  it  be  your  guide  in  the  future:  *A  man 
can  shine  in  the  second  rank,  who  would  be  totally  eclipsed  in 
the  first.'*' 

Never  had  Fanferlot  seen  his  patron  so  talkative  and  good- 
natured.  Finding  his  deceit  discovered,  he  had  expected  to  be 
overwhelmed  with  a  storm  of  anger;  whereas  he  had  escaped 
with  a  little  shower  that  had  cooled  his  brain.  Lecoq's  anger 
disappeared  like  one  of  those  heavy  clouds  which  threatened 
in  the  horizon  for  a  moment,  and  then  are  suddenly  swept 
•way  by  a  gust  of  wind. 

But  this  unexpected  affability  made  Fanferlot  feel  uneasy. 
He  was  afraid  that  something  might  be  concealed  beneath  it. 

"  Do  you  know  who  the  thief  is,  patron?'* 

"  I  know  no  more  than  you  do,  Fanferlot;  and  you  seem  to 
have  made  up  your  mind,  whereas  I  am  still  undecided.  You 
declare  the  cashier  to  be  innocent,  and  the  banker  guilty.  I 
don't  know  whether  you  are  right  or  wrong.  I  started  aftef 
you,  and  have  only  reached  the  preliminaries  of  my  search.  I 
am  certain  of  but  one  thing,  and  that  is,  that  a  scratch  was  on 
the  safe  door.     That  scratch  is  mv  starting-point.** 


FILE    IfO.    lia  83 

As  he  spoke,  M.  Lecoq  took  from  hia  desk  and  unrolled  an 

immense  sheet  of  drawing-paper. 

On  this  paper  was  photographed  the  door  of  M.  Fauvera 
safe.  The  impression  of  every  detail  was  perfect.  There  were 
five  movable  buttons  M'ith  tbe  engraved  letters,  and  the  nar- 
row, projecting  brass  lock.  The  scratch  was  indicated  with 
great  exactness. 

"  Now,"  said  M.  Lecoq,  "  here  is  oar  scratch.  It  rung 
from  top  to  bottom,  starting  from  the  hole  in  the  lock,  diago- 
nally, and,  observe,  from  left  to  right;  that  is  to  say,  it  termi" 
nates  on  the  side  next  to  the  private  staircase  leading  to  the 
banker's  apartments.  Although  very  deep  at  the  key-hole,  it 
ends  off  in  a  scarcely  perceptible  mark.'* 

"  Yes,  patron,  I  see  all  thaf 

**  Naturally  you  thought  that  this  scratch  was  made  by  the 
person  who  took  the  money.  Let  us  see  if  you  were  right.  I 
have  here  a  little  iron  box,  painted  with  green  varnish  like 
Monsieur  Fauvers  safe;  here  it  is.  Take  a  key  and  try  to 
scratch  it. " 

"  The  deuce  take  it!"  he  said,  after  several  attempts,  *'  this 
paint  is  awfully  hard  to  move!" 

"  Very  hard,  my  friend,  and  yet  that  on  the  safe  is  still 
harder  and  thicker.  So  you  see  the  scratch  you  discovered 
could  not  have  been  made  by  the  trembling  hand  of  a  thiei 
letting  the  key  slip." 

''Sapristi!"  exclaimed  Fanferlot,  stupefied:  **  I  never 
should  have  thought  of  that.  It  certainly  required  great  force 
to  ni;ike  the  deep  scratch  on  the  safe." 

"  Yes,  but  how  was  that  force  employed?  I  have  been 
racking  my  brain  for  three  days,  and  only  yesterday  did  I 
come  to  a  conclusion.  Let  ns  examine  together,  and  see  if 
our  conjectures  present  enough  chances  of  probability  to  estab- 
lish a  starting-point." 

M.  Lecoq  abandoned  the  photograph,  and,  walking  to  ths 
^.oor  communicating  with  his  bedroom,  took  the  key  from  the 
lock,  and,  holding  it  in  his  hand,  said: 

"  Come  here,  Fanferlot,  and  stand  by  my  side:  there;  very 
well.  Now  suppose  that  I  want  to  open  this  door,  and  you 
don't  want  me  to  open  it;  when  you  see  me  about  to  insert 
the  key,  what  would  be  your  first  impulse?" 

"  To  put  my  hands  on  your  arm  and  draw  it  toward  me  st 
ca  to  prevent  your  introducing  the  key.'* 

"  Precisely  so.  Now  let  us  try  it;  go  on."  Fanferlot 
obeyed;  and  the  key  held  by  M.  Lecoq,  pulled  aside  from  the 
lock,  slipped  along  the  door,  and  traced  upon  it  a  diagoud/ 


84  FILE  vo.  IISL 

Bcratch,  from  top  to  bottom,  the  exact  reproduction  of  the  onii 
in  the  photograiph. 

"  Oh,  oh,  oh!"  exclaimed  Fanferlot,  in  three  different  tone! 
of  admiration,  as  he  stood  gazing  in  a  reverie  at  the  door. 

'*  Do  you  begin  to  understand  now?"  asked  M.  Lecoq. 

"  Understand,  patron?  Why,  a  child  could  understand  it 
now.  Ah,  what  a  man  you  are  I  I  see  the  scene  as  if  I  had 
been  present.  Two  persons  were  present  at  th'e  robbery;  one 
wished  to  take  the  money,  the  other  wished  to  prevent  its  be- 
ing taken.     That  is  clear,  that  is  certain." 

Accustomed  to  triumphs  of  this  sort,  M.  Lecoq  was  much 
amused  at  Fanferlot's  enthusiasm. 

"  There  you  go  oflE  half-primed  again,"  he  said  good-hum- 
oredly:  *'  you  regard  as  sure  proof  a  circumstance  which  may 
be  accidental,  and  at  the  most  only  probable. " 

"  No,  patron,  no!  a  man  like  you  could  not  be  mistaken: 
doubt  no  longer  exists. " 

"  That  being  the  case,  what  deductions  would  you  draw 
from  our  discovery?" 

'*  In  the  first  place,  it  proves  that  I  am  correct  iu  thinking 
the  cashier  innocent." 

*'  How  so?" 

*'  Because,  at  perfect  liberty  to  open  the  safe  whenever  he 
wished  to  do  so,  it  is  not  likely  that  he  would  have  brought  a 
witness  when  he  intended  to  commit  the  theft." 

"  Well  reasoned,  Fanferlot.  But  on  this  supposition  the 
banker  would  be  equally  innocent:  reflect  a  little.*' 

Fanferlot  reflected,  and  all  of  his  animation  vanished. 

*'  You  are  right, *'  he  said,  in  a  despairing  tone.  *'  What 
can  be  done  now?" 

**  Look  for  the  third  rogue,  or  rather  the  real  rogue,  the  one 
who  opened  the  safe,  and  stole  the  notes,  and  who  is  still  at 
large,  while  others  are  suspected.*' 

"  Impossible,  patron — impossible!  Don't  you  know  that 
Monsieui  Fauvel  and  his  cashier  had  keys,  and  they  only? 
And  they  always  kept  these  keys  in  their  pockets." 

"  On  the  evening  of  the  robbery  the  banker  left  his  key  in 
the  secretary. " 

"  Yes;  but  the  key  alone  was  not  snfl&cieut  to  open  the  safej 
the  word  must  also  be  known." 

M.  Lecoq  shrugged  his  shoulders  impatiently. 

**  What  was  the  word?"  he  asked. 

"  Gipsy." 

*'  Which  is  the  name  of  the  cashier's  grisette.  Now  keep 
f  Dur  eyes  open.     The  day  you  find  a  man  sufficiently  intimato 


FILE    NO.    113.  88 

Urith  Prosper  to  be  aware  of  all  the  circnmstances  connected 
with  this  name,  and  at  the  same  time  on  a  footing  with  tha 
Fauvel  family  which  would  give  him  the  privilege  of  entering 
Monsieur  Fauvel's  chamber,  then,  and  not  till  then,  you  will 
discover  the  guilty  party.  On  that  day  the  problem  will  be 
solved.'*  ' 

Self-sufficient  and  vain,  like  all  famous  men,  M.  Lecoq  had 
never  had  a  pupil,  and  never  wished  to  have  one.  He  worked 
alone,  because  ne  hated  assistants,  wishing  to  share  neither  the 
pleasure  of  success  nor  the  pain  of  defeat. 

Thus  Fanferlot,  who  knew  his  patron's  character,  was  sur- 
prised to  hear  him  giving  advice,  who  heretofore  had  only 
given  orders. 

He  was  so  puzzled,  that  in  spite  of  his  preoccupation,  he 
could  not  help  betraying  his  surprise. 

*'  Patron,"  he  ventured  to  say,  **  you  seem  to  take  a  great 
interest  in  this  affair,  you  have  so  deeply  studied  it." 

M.  Lecoq  started  nervously,  and  replied,  frowning: 

"  You  are  too  curious.  Master  Squirrel;  be  careful  that  you 
do  not  go  too  far.     Do  you  understand?" 

Fanferlot  began  to  apologize. 

"  That  will  do,"  interrupted  M.  Lecoq.  "  If  I  choose  to 
lend  you  a  helping  hand  it  is  because  it  suits  my  fancy  to  do 
so.  It  pleases  me  to  be  the  head,  ind  let  you  be  the  hand. 
Unassisted,  with  your  preconceived  ideas,  you  would  never 
have  found  the  culprit;  if  we  two  together  don't  find  him,  my 
name  is  not  Lecoq." 

*'  We  shall  certainly  succeed  if  yon  interest  yourself  in  the 
case. " 

"  Yes,  I  am  interested  in  it,  and  during  the  last  four  days  I 
have  discovered  many  important  facts.  But  listen  to  me.  I 
have  reasons  for  not  appearing  in  this  affair.  No  matter  what 
happens,  I  forbid  your  mentioning  my  name.  If  we  succeed 
all  the  success  must  be  attributed  to  you.  And,  above  all, 
don't  try  to  ^nd  out  what  I  choose  to  keep  from  you.  Be 
satisfied  with  what  explanations  I  give  you.  Now,  be  care- 
ful." 

These  conditions  seemed  quite  to  suit  Fanferlot, 

*'  I  will  obey  your  instructions,  and  be  discreet." 

"  I  shall  rely  upon  you.  Now,  to  begin,  you  must  carnf 
this  photograph  to  the  judge  of  instruction.  I  know  Monsieur 
Patrigent  is  much  perplexed  about  this  case.  Explain  to  him 
as  if  it  were  your  own  discovery,  what  I  have  just  shown  you; 
repeat  for  his  benefit  the  scene  we  have  acted,  and  I  am  con- 
vinced that  this  evidence  will  determine  liim  to  release  thtf 


69  PILE    NO.    113. 

cashier.     Prosper  must  be  at  liberty  before  1  can  commenoj 
my  operations.^* 

**  Of  course,  patron;  but  muse  I  let  him  know  that  I  suspecl 
any  one  besides  the  banker  or  cashier?*' 

Certainly.  Justice  must  not  be  kept  in  ignorance  of  your 
intention  of  following  up  this  affair.  Monsieur  Patrigent  will 
tell  you  to  watch  Prosper;  you  will  reply  that  you  will  not  lose 
sight  of  him.  I  myself  will  answer  for  his  being  in  safe  keep- 
ing." 

**  Suppose  he  asks  me  about  Gipsy?" 

M.  Lecoq  hesitated  for  a  moment. 

*'  Tell  him/'  he  finally  said,  "  that  you  persuaded  her,  in 
the  interest  of  Prosper,  to  live  in  a  house  where  she  can  watch 
some  one  whom  you  suspect.  ** 

Fanferlot  was  joyously  picking  up  his  hat  to  go,  when  M. 
Lecoq  checked  him  by  waving  his  hand,  and  said: 

"  I  have  not  finished.  Do  you  know  how  to  drive  a  car- 
riage and  manage  horses?'* 

'*  Why,  patron,  can  you  ask  this  of  a  man  who  used  to  be  a 
rider  in  the  Bouthor  Circus?** 

"  Very  well.  As  soon  as  the  judge  dismisses  you,  return 
home  immediately,  make  yourself  a  wig  and  the  complete 
dress  of  a  valet;  and,  having  dressed  yourself,  take  this  letter 
to  the  Agency  on  the  Eue  Delorme.** 

"  But,  patron—** 

"  There  must  be  no  but,  my  friend;  the  agent  will  send  you 
to  Monsieur  de  Clameran,  who  is  looking  for  a  valet,  his  man 
having  left  him  yesterday.** 

*'  Excuse  ms  if  I  venture  to  suggest  that  you  are  making  a 
mistake.     This  Clameran  is  not  the  cashier's  friend?** 

"Why  do  you  always  interrupt  me:'*  said  M.  Lecoq,  im- 
periously. "  Do  what  I  tell  you,  and  don't  disturb  your  mind 
about  the  rest.  Clameran  is  not  a  friend  of  Prosper's,  I  know; 
but  he  is  the  friend  and  protector  of  Eaoul  de  Lagors.  Why 
80?  Whence  the  intimacy  of  these  two  men  of  such  different 
ages?  That  is  what  I  must  find  out.  I  must  also  find  out 
who  this  forge-master  is,  who  lives  in  Paris,  and  never  goes  to 
attend  to  his  furnaces.  A  jolly  fellow,  who  takes  it  into  hia 
head  to  live  at  the  Hotel  du  Louvre,  in  the  midst  of  a  tumult- 
uous, ever-changing  crowd,  is  a  fellow  difficult  to  watch. 
Through  you  I  will  have  an  eye  upon  him.  He  has  a  carriage; 
you  are  to  drive  it;  and  you  will  soon  be  able  to  give  me  an 
account  of  his  manner  of  life,  and  of  the  sort  of  people  with 
wrhom  he  associates.'* 

*'  You  shall  be  obeyed,  D^troQ." 


FILE    NO.    113.  8? 

"  Another  thing.  Monsieur  de  Clameran  is  irritable  and  sus- 
picious. You  will  be  presented  to  him  under  the  name  of 
Joseph  Dubois.  He  will  demand  your  certificate  of  good  char- 
acter. Here  are  three,  which  state  that  you  have  lived  with 
the  Marquis  de  Stairmeuse  and  the  Count  de  Gommarin,  and 
that  you  have  just  left  the  Baron  de  Wortschen,  who  went  to 
Germany  the  other  day.  Now  keep  your  eyes  open;  be  care- 
ful of  your  dress  and  manners.  Be  polite,  but  not  excessively 
so.  And,  above  all  things,  don't  be  obsequious;  it  might 
arouse  suspicion.'' 

"  I  understand,  patron.     Where  shall  I  report  to  you?" 

*'  I  will  call  on  you  every  day.  Until  I  tell  you  differently, 
don't  step  foot  in  this  house;  you  might  be  followed.  If  any- 
thing important  should  happen,  send  a  note  to  your  wife,  and 
she  will  inform  me.     Go,  and  be  prudent." 

The  door  closed  on  Fanferlot  as  M.  Lecoq  passed  into  hia 
bedroom. 

In  the  twinkling  of  an  eye  he  had  divested  himself  of  the 
appearance  of  a  police  officer.  He  took  off  his  stiff  cravat  and 
gold  spectacles,  and  removed  the  close  wig  from  his  thick 
black  hair.  The  official  Lecoq  had  disappeared,  leaving  in  his 
place  the  genuine  Lecoq  whom  nobody  knew — a  handsome 
young  man,  with  a  bold,  determined  manner,  and  brilliant, 
piercing  eyes. 

But  he  only  remained  himself  for  an  instant.  Seated  before 
a  dressing-table,  covered  with  more  cosmetics,  paints,  per- 
fumes, false  hair,  and  other  unmentionable  shams  than  are  to 
be  found  on  the  toilet-tables  of  our  modern  belles,  he  began  to 
undo  the  work  of  nature,  and  make  himself  a  new  face. 

He  worked  slowly,  handling  his  brushes  with  great  care. 
But  in  an  hour  he  had  accomplished  one  of  his  daily  master- 
pieces. When  he  had  finished,  he  was  no  longer  Lecoq:  he 
was  the  large  gentleman  with  red  whiskers,  whom  Fanferlot 
failed  to  recognize. 

"  Well,'*  he  said,  casting  a  last  look  in  the  mirror,  "  I  have 
forgotten  nothing;  I  have  left  nothing  to  chance.  All  my 
plans  are  fixed;  and  I  shall  make  some  progress  to-day,  pro« 
vided  the  Squirrel  does  not  waste  time. " 

But  Fanferlot  was  too  happy  to  waste  a  minute.  He  did  not 
run,  he  flew,  toward  the  Palais  de  Justice. 

At  last  he  was  now  able  to  convince  some  one  that  he,  Fan- 
ferlot, was  a  man  of  wonderful  perspicacity. 

As  to  acknowledging  that  he  was  about  to  obtain  a  triumph 
with  the  ideas  of  another  man,  he  never  thought  of  it.     It  is 


68  FILE    NO.    113. 

generally  in  perfect  good  faith  that  the  jackdaw  struts  in  the 
peacock  s  feathers. 

His  hopes  were  not  deceived.  If  the  judge  was  not  abso- 
lutely and  fully  convinced,  he  admired  the  ingenuity  of  the 
whole  proceeding,  and  complimented  the  proud  jackdaw  upon 
his  brilliancy. 

*'  This  decides  me,*'  he  said,  as  he  dismised  Fanferlot.  **  I 
will  make  out  a  favorable  report  to-day;  and  it  is  highly  prob- 
able that  the  accused  will  be  released  to-morrow.** 

He  began  at  once  to  write  out  one  of  those  terrible  decisions 
of  *'  Not  proven,*'  which  restores  liberty,  but  not  honor,  to 
the  accused  man;  which  says  that  he  is  not  guilty,  but  does 
not  say  he  is  innocent: 

**  Whereas  there  do  not  exist  sufficient  charges  against  the 
accused.  Prosper  Bertomy,  in  pursuance  of  Article  128  of  the 
Criminal  Code,  we  hereby  declare  that  we  find  no  grounds  for 
prosecution  against  the  aforesaid  prisoner  at  this  present  time; 
and  we  order  that  he  shall  be  released  from  the  prison  where 
he  is  confined,  and  set  at  liberty  by  the  jailer,**  etc. 

"Well,*' he  said  to  the  clerk,  "here  is  another  of  those 
crimes  which  justice  can  not  clear  up.  The  mystery  remains 
to  be  solved.  This  is  another  file  to  be  stowed  away  among 
the  archives  of  the  record  office.** 

And  with  his  own  hand  he  wrote  on  the  cover  of  the  bundle 
of  papers  relating  to  Prosper*8  case,  the  number  of  the  pack- 
age, ^'FUeNo.  113.** 


CHAPTER  VII. 

Prosper  had  been  languishing  in  his  private  cell  for  nine 
days,  when  on  Thursday  morning  the  jailer  came  to  inform 
him  of  the  judge*8  decision.  He  was  conducted  before  the 
officer  who  had  searched  him  when  he  was  arrested;  and  the 
contents  of  his  pocket,  his  watch,  pen-knife,  and  several  little 
pieces  of  jewelry  were  restored  to  him;  then  he  was  told  to 
sign  a  large  sheet  of  paper,  which  he  did. 

He  was  next  led  across  a  dark  passage,  and  almost  pushed 
through  a  door,  which  was  abruptly  shut  upon  him. 

He  found  himself  on  the  quai;  he  was  alon»;  he  was  free. 

Free!  Justice  had  confessed  her  inability  to  convict  him  ol 
the  crime  of  which  he  was  accused. 

Free  I  He  could  walk  about,  he  could  breathe  the  pure  air; 
but  every  door  would  be  closed  against  him. 


fiLE  NO.  113.  89 

Only  acquittal  after  due  trial  would  restore  him  to  hii 
lormer  position  among  men. 

A  decision  of  "  Not  proven  "  had  left  him  covered  with 
suspicion. 

The  torments  inflicted  by  public  opinion  are  more  fearful 
than  those  suffered  in  a  prison  cell. 

At  the  moment  of  his  restoration  to  liberty,  Prosper  so 
cruelly  suffered  from  the  horror  of  his  situation  that  he  could 
!iot  repress  a  cry  of  rage  and  despair. 

"  I  am  innocent!  God  knows  I  am  innocent!"  he  cried  out. 
But  of  what  use  was  his  anger? 

Two  strangers,  who  were  passing,  stopped  to  look  at  him, 
and  said,  pityingly,  "  He  is  crazy.'' 

The  Seine  was  at  his  feet.  A  thought  Okf  suicide  crossed  hia 
mind. 

"  No,''  he  said,  "no!  I  have  not  even  the  right  to  kill  my- 
self. No;  I  will  not  die  until  I  have  vindicated  my  inno- 
cence!" 

Often,  day  and  night,  had  Prosper  repeated  these  words,  as 
he  walked  his  cell.  With  a  heart  filled  with  a  bitter,  deter- 
mined thirst  for  vengeance,  which  gives  a  man  the  force  and 
patience  to  destroy  or  wear  out  all  obstacles  in  his  way,  he 
would  say,  "  Oh!  why  am  I  not  at  liberty?  I  am  helpless, 
caged  up;  but  let  me  once  be  free!" 

Now  he  was  free;  and,  for  the  first  time,  he  saw  the  diffi- 
culties of  the  task  before  him.  For  each  crime  justice  requires 
a  criminal;  he  could  not  establish  his  own  innocence  without 
producing  the  guilty  man:  how  find  the  thief  so  as  to  hand 
him  over  to  the  law? 

Discouraged,  but  not  despondent,  he  turned  in  the  direction 
of  his  apartments.  He  was  beset  with  a  thousand  anxieties. 
What  had  taken  place  during  the  nine  days  that  he  had  been 
cut  off  from  all  intercourse  with  his  friends?  No  news  of 
them  had  reached  him.  He  had  heard  no  more  of  what  was 
going  oi\  in  the  outside  world  than  if  his  secret  cell  had  been 
a  grave. 

He  slowly  walked  along  the  streets,  with  his  eyes  cast  down, 
dreading  to  meet  some  familiar  face.  He,  who  had  always 
been  so  haaghty,  would  now  be  pointed  at  with  the  finger  of 
scorn.  He  would  be  greeted  with  cold  looks  and  averted  faces. 
Men  would  refuse  to  shake  hands  with  him.  He  would  b© 
shunned  by  honest  people,  who  have  no  patience  with  a  thief. 
Still,  if  he  could  count  on  only  one  true  friend!  Yes;  he  was 
'tor©  of  one.     But  what  friend  would  beUeve  him  when  his 


90  FILE  3<ro.   113. 

father,  who  should  have  been  the  last  to  suspect  him,  had  re. 
fused  to  believe  him? 

In  the  midst  of  his  sufferings,  when  he  felt  almost  over- 
whelmed by  the  sense  of  his  wretched,  lonely  condition,  he 
thought  of  Nina  Gipsy. 

He  had  never  loved  the  poor  girl;  indeed,  at  times  he  almost 
hated  her;  but  now  he  felt  a  longing  to  see  her.  He  wished  to 
be  with  her,  because  he  knew  that  she  loved  him,  and  that 
nothing  could  make  her  believe  him  guilty;  because  he  knew 
that  a  woman  remains  true  and  firm  in  her  faith  and  is  always 
faithful  in  the  hour  of  adversity,  although  she  sometimes  fails 
in  prosperity. 

On  entering  the  Rue  Chaptal  Prosper  saw  his  own  door,  but 
hesitated  to  enter  it. 

He  suffered  from  the  timidity  which  an  honest  man  always 
feels  when  he  knows  he  is  viewed  with  suspicion. 

He  dreaded  meeting  any  one  whom  he  knew;  yet  he  could 
not  remain  in  the  street.     He  entered. 

When  the  porter  saw  him,  he  uttered  an  exclamation  of  glad 
surprise,  and  said: 

*'  Ah,  here  you  are  at  last,  monsieur.  I  told  every  one  you 
would  come  out  as  white  as  snow;  and  when  I  read  in  the 
papers  that  you  were  arrested  for  robbery,  I  said,  '  My  third- 
tioor  lodger  a  thief!  Never  would  I  believe  such  a  thing, 
never!"         ^^ 

The  congrSfc^ions  of  this  ignorant  man  were  sincere,  and 
offered  from  pure  kindness  of  heart;  but  they  impressed  Pros- 
per painfully,  and  he  cut  them  short  by  abruptly  asking: 

"  Madame  of  course  has  left:  can  you  tell  me  where  she  has 
gone?*' 

"  Dear  me,  no,  monsieur.  The  day  of  your  arrest  she  sent 
for  a  hack,  got  into  it  with  her  trunks,  and  disappeared;  and 
no  one  has  seen  or  heard  of  her  since. '* 

This  was  another  blow  to  the  unhappy  cashier. 

•'  And  where  are  my  servants?" 

"  Gone,  monsieur;  your  father  paid  and  discharged  them." 

"  I  suppose  you  have  my  keys?" 

"  No,  monsieur;  when  your  father  left  here  this  morning, 
at  eight  o'clock,  he  told  me  that  a  friend  of  his  would  take 
charge  of  your  rooms  until  you  should  return.  Of  course  you 
know  who  he  is — a  stout  gentleman  with  red  whiskers." 

Prosper  was  stupefied.  What  could  be  the  meaning  of  one 
of  his  father's  friends  being  in  his  rooms?  He  did  not,  how- 
ever, betray  his  surprise,  but  quietly  said: 

**  Yes;  I  know  who  it  is," 


FILE    NO.    113.  9i 

He  quickly  ran  up  the  stairs,  and  knocked  at  his  door. 

it  was  opened  by  his  father's  friend. 

He  had  been  accurately  described  by  the  porter.  A  fat  man^ 
with  a  red  face,  sensual  lips,  brilliant  eyes,  and  of  rather  coarse 
manners,  stood  bowing  to  Prosper,  who  had  never  seen  him 
before. 

"  Delighted  to  make  your  acquaintance,  monsieur,*'  said  he 
to  Prosper. 

He  seemed  to  be  perfectly  at  home.  On  the  table  lay  a  book, 
which  he  had  taken  from  the  book-case;  and  he  appeared  ready 
to  do  the  honors  of  the  house. 

"  I  must  say,  monsieur — "  began  Prosper. 

"  That  you  are  surprised  to  find  me  here?  So  I  suppose. 
Your  father  intended  introducing  me  to  you;  but  he  was  com- 
pelled to  return  to  Beaucaire  this  morning;  and  let  me  add 
that  he  departed  thoroughly  convinced,  as  I  myself  am,  that 
you  never  took  a  cent  from  Monsieur  Fauvel.'* 

At  this  unexpected  good  news,  Prosper's  face  lit  up  with 
pleasure. 

"  Here  is  a  letter  from  your  father,  which  I  hope  will  serve 
as  an  introduction  between  us.'* 

Prosper  opened  the  letter;  and  as  he  read  his  eyes  grew 
brighter,  and  a  slight  color  returned  to  his  pale  face. 

When  he  had  finished,  he  held  out  his  hand  to  the  large 
^•entleman,  and  said: 

"  My  father,  monsieur,  tells  me  you  are  his  best  friend;  he 
advises  me  to  have  absolute  confidence  in  you,  and  follow  your 
counsel. '* 

"  Exactly.  This  morning  your  father  said  to  me,  '  Ver- 
duret' — that  is  my  name — 'Verduret,  my  son  is  in  great 
trouble,  he  must  be  helped  out. '  I  replied, '  I  am  ready,'  and 
here  I  am  to  help  you.  Now,  the  ice  is  broken,  is  it  not? 
Then  let  us  go  to  work  at  once.     What  do  you  intend  to  do?" 

This  question  revived  Prosper's  slumbering  rage.  His  eyes 
flashed. 

"  What  do  I  intend  to  do?"  he  said,  angrily;  '*  what  should 
I  do  but  seek  the  villain  who  has  ruined  me?" 

"  So  I  supposed;  but  have  you  any  hopes  of  success?" 

"None;  yet  I  shall  succeed,  because,  when  a  man  devotes 
his  whole  life  to  the  accomplishment  of  an  object,  he  is  certain 
to  achieve  it." 

*'  Well  said,  Monsieur  Prosper;  and,  to  be  frank,  I  fully  ex* 
pected  that  tliis  would  be  your  purpose.  I  have  therefore 
already  bfgun  to  think  and  act  for  you.     I  have  a  plan.     In 


92  FILE    NO.    113. 

the  first  place,  you  will  sell  this  furniture,  and  disappear  from 
the  neighborhood. "' 

*' Disappear!"  cried  Prosper,  indignantly — "disappear! 
Why,  monsieur?  Do  you  not  see  that  such  a  step  would  be  a 
confession  of  guilt,  would  authorize  the  world  to  say  tiiat  I  am 
hiding  so  as  to  enjoy  undisturbed  the  stolen  fortune?" 

"  Well,  what  then?"  said  the  man  with  the  red  whiskers; 
**  did  you  not  say  just  now  that  the  sacrifice  of  your  life  is 
made?  The  skillful  swimmer  thrown  into  the  river  by  male- 
factors is  careful  not  to  rise  to  the  surface  immediately:  on  the 
contrary,  he  plunges  beneath,  and  remains  there  as  long  as  his 
breath  holds  out.  He  comes  up  again  at  a  great  distance,  and 
lands  out  of  sight:  then,  when  he  is  supposed  to  be  dead,  lost 
forever  to  the  sight  of  man,  he  rises  up  and  has  his  vengeance. 
You  have  an  enemy?  Some  petty  imprudence  will  betray 
him.  But,  while  he  sees  you  standing  by  on  the  watch,  he  will 
be  on  his  guard. ' ' 

It  was  with  a  sort  of  amazed  submission  that  Prosper  list- 
ened to  this  man,  who,  though  a  friend  of  his  father,  was  an 
utter  stranger  to  himself. 

He  submitted  unconsciously  to  the  ascendency  of  a  nature 
so  much  more  energetic  and  forcible  than  his  own.  In  his 
helpless  condition  he  was  grateful  for  friendly  assistance,  and 
said: 

"  I  will  follow  your  advice,  monsieur." 

"  I  was  sure  you  would,  my  dear  friend.  Let  us  reflect 
upon  the  course  you  should  pursue.  And  remember  that  you 
will  need  every  cent  of  the  proceeds  of  the  sale.  Have  you 
any  ready  money?  no,  but  you  must  have  some.  Knowing 
that  you  would  need  it  at  once,  I  brought  an  upholsterer  here; 
and  he  will  give  twelve  thousand  francs  for  everything  except 
the  pictures." 

The  cashier  could  not  refrain  from  shrugging  his  shoulders, 
which  M.  Verduret  observed. 

"  Well,"  said  he,  "  it  is  rather  hard,  I  admit,  but  it  is  a 
necessity.  Now  listen :  you  are  the  invalid,  and  I  am  the  doc- 
tor charged  to  cure  you;  if  I  cut  to  the  quick,  you  will  have 
to  endure  it.     It  is  the  only  way  to  save  you.*' 

"  Cut  away,  then,  monsieur,"  answered  Prosper. 

**  AVell,  we  will  hurry;  for  time  passes.  You  have  a  friend.. 
Monsieur  de  Lagors?" 

'*  Raoul?     Yes,  monsieur,  he  is  an  intimate  friend." 

**  Kow  tell  me,  who  is  this  fellow?" 

The  term  "  fellow  "  seemed  to  offend  Prosper. 

"  Mwusieur  de  Lagors,  monsieur,"  he  said,  haughtily,  **  is 


FILE    FO.    113.  93 

Monaear  Fauvers  nephew-,  he  is  a  wealthy  young  man,  hand- 
Bome,  intelligent,  cultivated,  and  the  best  frienri  J  have.'' 

"  Hum!*'  said  M.  Verduret,  "  I  shall  be  delighted  to  make 
the  acquaintance  of  one  adorned  by  so  many  charming  quali- 
ties. I  must  let  you  know  that  I  wrote  him  a  note  in  your 
name  asking  him  to  come  here,  and  he  sent  word  that  he 
Vyould  be  here  directly. " 

*'  What!  do  you  suppose — " 

"  Oh,  I  suppose  nothing!  Only  I  must  see  this  young  man. 
Also,  I  have  arranged  and  will  submit  to  you  a  little  plan  of 
conversation — " 

A  ring  at  the  front  door  interrupted  M.  Verduret. 

"Sacrebleu!  adieu  to  my  plan;  here  he  is!  Where  can  I 
hide  so  as  to  hear  and  see?*' 

"  There,  in  my  bedroom;  leave  the  door  open  and  the  cur- 
tain down.'' 

A  second  ring  was  heard. 

"  Now,  remember.  Prosper,"  said  M.  Verduret,  in  a  warn- 
ing tone,  "  not  one  word  to  this  man  about  your  plans,  or  about 
me.  Pretend  to  be  discouraged,  helpless,  and  undecided  what 
to  do." 

And  he  disappeared  behind  the  curtain  as  Prosper  ran  to 
open  the  door. 

Prosper's  portrait  of  M.  de  Lagors  had  not  been  an  exag- 
gerated one.  So  handsome  a  face  and  manly  a  figure  could 
belong  only  to  a  noble  character. 

Although  Raoul  said  that  he  was  twenty-four,  he  appeared 
to  be  not  more  than  twenty.  He  had  a  superb  figure,  well 
knit  and  supple;  a  beautiful  white  brow,  shaded  by  soft  chest- 
nut curly  hair,  soft  blue  eyes  which  beamed  with  frankness. 

His  first  impulse  was  to  throw  himself  into  Prosper's  arms. 
**  My  poor,  dear  friend!"  he  said,  "  my  poor  Prosper!" 

But  beneath  these  affectionate  demonstrations  there  was  a 
certain  constraint,  which,  if  it  escaped  the  cashier,  was  noticed 
by  M.  Verduret. 

"Your  letter,  my  dear  Prosper,"  said  Raoul,  "made  me 
almofH;  ill,  I  was  so  frightened  by  it.  I  asked  myself  if  you 
could  have  lost  your  mind.  Then  I  left  everything,  to  fly  to 
your  assistance;  and  here  I  am." 

Prosper  did  not  seem  to  hear  him;  he  was  preoccupied  about 
the  letter  he  had  not  written.  What  were  its  contents?  Who 
was  this  stranger  whose  assistance  he  had  accepted? 

"  You  must  not  feel  discouraged,"  continued  M.  de  Lagors: 
**  you  are  joung  enough  to  commence  life  anew.    Your  f  ciende 


94  PILE    NO.    113. 

are  atill  left  to  you.  Eelv  upon  me;  I  am  rich,  half  of  m) 
fortune  is  at  your  disposal. 

This  generous  oflfer,  made  at  a  moment  like  this  with  such 
frank  simplicity,  deeply  touched  Prosper. 

"  Thanks,  Raoul,''  he  said,  with  emotion,  "thank  you! 
But  unfortunately  all  the  money  in  the  world  would  be  of 
no  use  now.'' 

"  Why  so?  What  are  you  going  to  do?  Do  you  propose  to 
remain  in  Paris?'* 

"  I  know  not,  Eaoul.  I  have  made  no  plans  yet.  My  mind 
is  too  confused  for  me  to  think." 

"  I  will  tell  you  what  to  do,"  replied  Raoul,  quickly,  "  you 
must  start  afresh;  until  this  mysterious  robbery  is  explained 
you  must  keep  away  from  Paris.  It  will  never  do  for  you  to 
remain  here. " 

*'  And  suppose  it  never  should  be  explained?" 

**  Only  the  more  reason  for  your  remaining  in  oblivion.  I 
have  been  talking  about  you  to  Clameran.  '  If  I  were  in  Pros- 
per's  place,' he  said,  '  I  would  turn  everything  into  money, 
and  embark  for  America;  there  I  would  make  a  fortune,  and 
return  to  crush  with  my  millions  those  who  have  suspected 
me.'" 

This  advice  offended  Prosper's  pride,  but  he  said  nothing. 
He  was  thinking  of  what  the  stranger  had  said  to  him. 

"  I  will  think  it  over,"  he  finally  forced  himself  to  say. 
**  I  will  see.  I  would  like  to  know  what  Monsieur  Fauvel  says." 

**  My  uncle?  I  suppose  you  know  that  I  have  declined  the 
offer  he  made  me  to  enter  his  banking-house,  and  we  have 
almost  quarreled.  I  have  not  set  foot  in  his  house  for  over  a 
month;  but  I  hear  of  him  occasionally. " 

*'  Through  whom?" 

*'  Through  your  friend  Oavaillon.  My  uncle,  tliey  say,  is 
more  distressed  by  this  affair  than  you  are.  He  does  not  attend 
to  his  business,  and  wanders  about  as  if  he  had  lost  every 
friend  on  earth." 

"  And  Madame  Fauvel,  and — "  Prosper  hesitated — **and 
Mademoiselle  Madeleine,  how  are  they?" 

"  Oh,"  said  Raoul,  lightly,  "  ray  aunt  is  as  pious  as  ever; 
she  has  a  mass  said  for  the  benefit  of  the  sinner.  As  to  my 
handsome,  icy  cousin,  she  can  not  bring  herself  down  to  com- 
mon matters,  because  she  is  entirely  absorbed  in  preparing  for 
the  fancy  ball  to  be  given  day  after  to-morrow  by  Messieurs 
Jandidier.  She  has  discovered,  so  one  of  her  friends  told  me, 
a  wonderful  dress-maker,  a  stranger  who  has  suddenly  appeared 
from  no  one  knows  where,  who  is  making  a  costume  of  Cathe* 


PILE   NO.   113.  93 

rine  de  Medici's  maid  of  honor;  and  it  is  to  be  a  marvel  oi 
beauty/' 

Excessive  suffering  brings  with  it  a  sort  of  dull  insensibility 
and  stupor;  and  Prosper  thought  that  there  was  nothing  left 
to  be  inflicted  upon  him,  and  had  reached  that  state  of  in}- 
passibility  from  which  he  never  expected  to  be  aroused,  when 
this  last  remark  of  M.  de  Lagors  made  him  cry  out  with  pain; 

"Madeleine!     Oh,  Madeleine!" 

M.  de  Lagors,  pretending  not  to  have  heard  him,  rose  from 
his  chair  and  said: 

"  I  must  leave  you  now,  my  dear  Prosper;  on  Saturday  I 
will  see  these  ladies  at  the  ball,  and  will  bring  you  news  of 
them.  Now,  do  have  courage,  and  remember  that,  whatever 
happens,  you  have  a  friend  in  me." 

Eaoul  shook  Prosper's  hand,  closed  the  door  after  him,  and 
hurried  up  the  street,  leaving  Prosper  standing  immovable 
and  overcome  by  disappointment. 

He  was  aroused  from  his  gloomy  reverie  by  hearing  the  red- 
whiskered  man  say  in  a  bantering  tone: 

"  So  these  are  your  friends." 

"  Yes,"  said  Prosper,  with  bitterness.  "  You  heard  him 
offer  me  half  of  his  fortune?" 

M.  Verduret  shrugged  his  shoulders  with  an  air  of  compas- 
sion. 

"  That  was  very  stingy  on  his  part,"  he  said,  "  why  did  he 
not  offer  the  whole?  Offers  cost  nothing;  although  I  have  no 
doubt  that  this  sweet  youth  would  cheerfully  give  ten  thousand 
francs  to  put  the  ocean  between  you  and  him." 

"  Monsieur!  what  reason?" 

"  Who  knows?  Perhaps  for  the  same  reason  that  he  had 
not  set  foot  in  his  uncle's  house  for  a  month." 

"  But  that  is  the  truth,  monsieur,  I  am  sure  of  it." 

*' Naturally,"  said  M.  Verduret,  with  a  provoking  smile. 
**  But,"  he  continued,  with  a  serious  air,  "  we  have  devoted 
enough  time  to  this  Adonis.  Now,  be  good  enough  to  change 
your  dress,  and  we  will  go  and  call  on  Monsieur  Fauvel." 

This  proposal  seemed  to  stir  up  all  of  Prosper's  anger. 

"  Never  I"  he  exclaimed,  with  excitement,  "no,  never  will 
I,  voluntarily,  set  eyes  on  that  wretch!" 

This  resistance  did  not  surprise  M.  Verduret. 

"I  can  understand  your  feelings  toward  him,"  said  he, 
**  but,  at  the  same  time,  I  hope  you  will  change  your  mind, 
For  the  same  reason  that  I  wished  to  see  Monsieur  de  Lagoraii 
do  I  wish  to  see  Monsieur  Fauvel;  it  is  necessary,  you  under- 
Bttnd.    Are  you  so  very  weak  that  you  can  not  put  a  cou- 


06  FILE    NO.    113. 

strain t  upon  yourself  for  five  minutes?  I  shall  introduce  mj* 
self  as  one  of  your  relatives,  and  you  need  not  open  your  lips." 

*'  If  it  is  positively  necessary/'  said  Prosper,  "  if — '* 

**  It  is  necessary;  so  come  on.  You  must  have  confidence, 
put  on  a  brave  face.  Hurry  and  fix  yourself  up  a  little;  it  is 
getting  late,  and  I  am  hungry.  We  will  breakfast  on  our  way 
there.'* 

Prosper  had  hardly  passed  into  his  bedroom  when  the  beli 
rang  again.  M.  Verduret  opened  the  door.  It  was  the  porter, 
who  handed  him  a  thick  letter,  and  said: 

"  This  letter  was  left  this  morning  for  Monsieur  Bertomy;  1 
was  so  flustered  when  he  came  that  I  forgot  to  hand  it  to  him. 
It  is  a  very  odd-looking  letter;  is  it  not,  monsieur?" 

It  was  indeed  a  most  peculiar  missive.  The  address  was  not 
written,  but  formed  of  printed  letters,  carefully  cut  from  a 
book,  and  pasted  on  the  envelope. 

"  Oh,  ho!  what  is  this?"  cried  M.  Verduret;  then  turning 
toward  the  porter  he  said,  "  Wait.'* 

He  went  into  the  next  room,  and  closed  the  door  behind 
him;  there  he  found  Prosper,  anxious  to  know  what  was  go- 
ing on. 

*'  Here  is  a  letter  for  you,"  said  M.  Verduret. 

He  at  once  tore  open  the  envelope. 

Some  bank-notes  dropped  out;  he  counted  them;  there  wero 
ten. 

Prosper's  face  turned  purple. 

"  What  does  this  mean?'*  he  asked. 

*'  We  will  read  the  letter  and  find  out,"  replied  Verduret 

The  letter,  like  the  address,  was  composed  of  printed  words 
cut  out  and  pasted  on  a  sheet  of  paper. 

It  was  short  but  explicit: 

*'  My  dear  Prosper,— a  friend,  who  knows  the  horror  of 
your  situation,  sends  this  succor.  There  is  one  heart,  be  as- 
sured, that  shares  your  sufferings.  Go  away;  leave  France; 
you  are  young;  the  future  is  before  you.  Go,  and  may  this 
money  bring  you  happiness!** 

As  M.  Verduret  read  the  note,  Prosper's  rage  increased. 
He  was  angry  and  perplexed,  for  he  could  not  explain  the 
rapidly  succeeding  events  which  were  so  calculated  to  mystify 
his  already  confused  brain. 

"  Everybody  wishes  me  to  go  away,**  he  cried;  *'  then  there 
must  be  a  conspiracy  against  me.** 

M.  Verduret  smiled  with  satisfaction. 

*'  At  last  you  begin  to  open  your  eyes,  you  begm  to  undw* 


FILE   NO.   113.  97 

itand.  Yei,  there  are  people  who  hate  you  because  of  the 
H^rong  they  have  done  you;  there  are  people  to  whom  your 
presence  in  Paris  is  a  constant  danger,  and  who  will  not  feel 
Bafe  till  they  are  rid  of  you/' 

"  But  who  are  these  people,  monsieur?  Tell  me,  whp  dares 
Bend  this  money?" 

"  If  I  knew,  my  dear  Prosper,  my  task  would  be  at  an  end, 
for  then  I  would  know  who  committed  the  robbery.  But  we 
will  continue  our  searches.  I  have  finally  procured  evidence 
which  will  sooner  or  later  become  convincing  proof.  I  have 
heretofore  only  made  deductions  more  or  less  probable;  I  now 
possess  knowledge  which  proves  that  I  was  mistaken.  I 
walked  in  darkness;  now  I  have  a  light  to  guide  me.'' 

As  Prosper  listened  to  M.  Verduret's  reassuring  words,  he 
felt  hope  arising  in  his  breast. 

**  Now,"  said  M.  Verduret,  *'  we  must  take  advantage  of 
this  ttvidence,  gained  by  the  imprudence  of  our  enemies,  with- 
out delay.     We  will  begin  with  the  porter." 

He  opened  the  door,  and  called  out: 

"  I  say,  my  good  man,  step  here  a  moment." 

The  porter  entered,  looking  very  much  surprised  at  tha 
authority  exercised  over  his  lodger  by  this  stranger. 

"  "Who  gave  you  this  letter?"  said  M.  Verduret. 

"  A  messenger,  who  said  he  was  paid  for  bringing  it." 

**  Do  you  know  him?" 

**  I  know  him  well:  he  is  the  errand-runner  who  keeps  hia 
cart  at  the  corner  of  the  Eue  Pigalle." 

"  Go  and  bring  him  here." 

After  the  porter  had  gone,  M.  Verduret  drew  from  his 
pocket  his  diary,  and  compared  a  page  of  it  with  the  notes 
which  he  had  spread  over  the  table. 

"  These  notes  were  not  sent  by  the  thief,"  he  said,  after  an 
attentive  examination  of  them. 

"  Do  you  think  so,  monsieur?" 

"  I  am  certain  of  it;  that  is,  unless  the  thief  is  endowed 
with  extraordinary  penetration  and  forethought.  One  thing  is 
certain,  these  ten  thousand  francs  are  not  part  of  the  three 
hundred  and  fifty  thousand  which  were  stolen  from  the  safe.'"* 

"Yet,"  said  Prosper,  who  could  not  account  for  this  cer- 
tainty on  the  part  of  his  protector;  "  yet — " 

**  There  is  no  yet  about  it:  I  have  the  numbers  of  all  the 
Btelen  notes." 

"  What!     When  even  I  did  not  have  them?" 

"  But  the  bank  did.  fortunately.  When  we  undertake  an 
affair  we  must  anticipate  everything,  and  forget  nothing.     It 


98  '  FILE    NO.    113. 

is  ft  poor  exense  for  a  man  to  say,  *  I  did  not  think  of  it,* 
when  he  commits  some  oversight.     I  thought  of  the  bank.  *' 

If,  in  the  beginning.  Prosper  had  felt  some  repugnance 
about  confiding  in  his  father's  friend,  the  feeling  had  now  dis- 
appeared. 

He  understood  that  alone,  scarcely  master  of  himself, 
governed  only  by  the  inspirations  of  inexperience,  never  would 
he  have  the  patient  perspicacity  of  this  singular  man. 

Verduret  continued  talking  to  himself,  as  if  he  had  absolute- 
ly forgotten  Prosper 's  presence: 

"  Then,  as  this  package  did  not  come  from  the  thief,  it  can 
only  come  from  the  other  person  who  was  near  the  safe  at  the 
time  of  the  robbery  but  could  not  prevent  it,  and  now  feel* 
remorse.  The  probability  of  two  persons  assisting  at  the  rob- 
bery, a  probability  suggested  by  the  scratch,  is  now  converted 
into  undeniable  certainty.     Ergo,  I  was  right." 

Prosper  listening  attentively,  tried  hard  to  comprehend  thia 
monologue,  which  he  dared  not  interrupt. 

"  Let  us  seek,*'  went  on  the  fat  man,  "  this  second  person, 
whose  conscience  pricks  him,  and  yet  who  dares  not  reveal 
anything." 

He  read  the  letter  over  several  times,  scanning  the  sentences, 
and  weighing  every  word.  •* 

"  Evidently  this  letter  was  composed  by  a  woman,"  he  finally 
said.  "  Never  would  one  man  doing  another  man  a  service, 
and  sending  him  money,  use  the  word  '  succor. '  A  man  would 
have  said,  loan  money,  or  some  other  equivalent,  but  succor, 
never.  No  one  but  a  woman,  ignorant  of  masculine  suscepti' 
bilities,  would  have  naturally  made  use  of  this  word  to  expresa 
the  idea  it  represents.  As  to  the  sentence,  '  There  is  one 
heart,'  and  so  on,  it  could  only  have  been  written  by  a  wom- 
an." 

"  You  are  mistaken,  monsieur,"  said  Prosper;  "  no  womar  1 
is  mixed  up  in  this  affair." 

M.  Verduret  paid  no  attention  to  this  interruption,  perhaps 
he  did  not  hear  it:  perhaps  he  did  not  care  to  argue  the  mat- 
ter. 

*'  Now  let  us  see  if  we  can  discover  whence  the  printed 
words  were  taken  to  compose  this  letter." 

He  approached  the  window,  and  began  to  study  the  pasted 
words  with  all  the  scrupulous  attention  which  an  antiquarian 
would  devote  to  an  old,  half-effaced  manuscript. 

*'  Small  type,"  he  said,  '*  very  slender  and  clear;  the  paper 
is  thin  and  glossy.  Consequently,  these  words  have  not  been 
cut  from  a  newspaper,  magazine,  or  'even  a  novel.   I  have  seen 


tlLE   NO.   113.  99 

type  like  tliis,  I  recognize  it  at  once;  Didot  often  uses  it,  so 
does  Madame  de  Tours.  '* 

He  stopped  with  his  mouth  open,  and  eyes  fixed,  appeahng 
laboriously  to  his  memory. 

Suddenly  he  struck  his  forehead  exultantly. 
"  Now  I  have  it!'*  he  cried;  "  now  I  have  it!    "Why  did  I 
not  see  it  at  once?     These  words  have  all  been  cut  from  a 
prayer-book.     We  will  look,  at  least,  and  then  we  shall  be 
certain.'' 

He  moistened  one  of  the  words  pasted  on  the  paper  with  hia 
tongue,  and,  when  it  was  sufficently  softened,  he  detached  it 
with  a  pin.  On  the  other  side  of  this  word  was  printed  a  Latin 
word,  Deus. 

'*'  Ah,  ha,"  he  said,  with  a  little  laugh  of  satisfaction,  '*  I 
knew  it.  Father  Taberet  would  be  pleased  to  see  this.  But 
what  has  become  of  the  mutilated  prayer-book?  Can  it  have 
been  burned?  No,  because  a  heavy  bound  book  is  not  easily 
burned.     It  is  thrown  in  some  corner." 

M.  Verduret  was  interrupted  by  the  porter,  who  returned 
"with  the  messenger  from  the  Eue  Pigalle. 

*'  Ah,  here  you  are,"  he  said,  encouragingly.  Then  he 
showed  the  envelope  of  the  letter,  and  said: 

"  Do  you  remember  bringing  this  letter  here  this  morning?" 

"  Perfectly,  monsieur.  I  took  particular  notice  of  the  direc- 
tion; we  don't  often  see  anything  like  it." 

"  Who  told  you  to  bring  it?  a  gentleman  or  a  lady?" 

*'  Neither,  monsieur,  it  was  a  porter." 

This  reply  made  the  porter  laugh  very  much,  but  not  a 
muscle  of  M.  Verduret's  face  moved. 

*'  A  porter?     Well,  do  you  know  this  colleague  of  yours?" 

"  I  never  even  saw  him  before." 

**  How  does  he  look?" 

**  He  was  neither  tall  nor  short;  he  W^ore  a  green  vest,  aneS 
his  medal." 

"  Your  description  is  so  vague  that  it  would  suit  every 

f)orter  in  the  city;  but  did  your  colleague  tell  you  who  sent  the 
etter?" 

"  No,  monsieur.  He  only  put  ten  sous  in  my  hand,  and 
said,  '  Here,  carry  this  to  No.  39,  Rue  Chaptal:  a  coachman 
on  the  boulevard  handed  it  to  me.'  Ten  sous!  I  warrant 
you,  he  made  more  than  that  by  it." 

This  answer  seemed  to  disconcert  M.  Yerduret.  So  many 
precautions  taken  in  sending  the  letter  disturbed  him,  and  di» 
Ttrranged  his  plans. 

■'*  Do  you  think  you  would  recognize  the  porter  again?'* 


100  FILE    NO.    113. 

"  Yes,  monsienr,  if  I  saw  him." 

"  How  much  do  you  gain  a  day,  as  a  porter?" 

**  I  can't  tell  exactly;  but  my  corner  is  a  good  stand,  and  ] 
am  busy  doing  errands  nearly  all  day.  I  suppose  I  make  from 
eight  to  ten  francs.*' 

**  Very  well;  I  will  give  you  ten  francs  a  day  if  you  will  walk 
about  the  streets  and  look  for  the  porter  who  brought  this 
letter.  Every  evening,  at  eight  o'clock,  come  to  the  Arch- 
angel, on  the  Quai  Saint  Michel,  give  me  a  report  of  your 
search,  and  receive  your  pay.  Ask  for  Monsieur  Verduret. 
If  you  find  the  man  I  will  give  you  fifty  francs.  Do  you  ac' 
cept?" 

'*  1  rather  think  I  will,  monsieur. " 

"  Then  don't  lose  a  minute.     Start  off!" 

Although  ignorant  of  M.  Verduret's  plans.  Prosper  began 
to  comprehend  the  sense  of  his  investigations.  His  fate  de- 
pended upon  their  success,  and  yet  he  almost  forgot  this  fact 
in  his  admiration  of  this  singular  man;  for  his  energy,  his 
bantering  coolness  when  he  wished  to  discover  anything,  the 
surety  of  his  deductions,  the  fertility  of  his  expedients,  and  the 
rapidity  of  his  movements  were  astonishing. 

"  Monsieur,"  said  Prosper,  when  the  porter  had  left  the 
room,  *'  do  you  still  think  you  see  a  woman's  hand  in  this 
affair?" 

"  More  than  ever;  and  a  pious  woman  too,  and  a  woman 
who  has  two  prayer-books,  since  she  could  cut  up  one  to  write 
tovou." 

And  you  hope  to  find  the  mutilated  book?" 

**  I  do,  thanks  to  the  opportunity  I  have  of  making  an  im- 
mediate search;  which  I  will  set  about  at  once." 

Saying  this,  he  sat  down,  and  rapidly  scratched  off  a  few 
lines  on  a  slip  of  paper,  which  he  folded  up,  and  put  in  hia 
vest-pocket. 

"  Are  you  ready  to  go  to  Monsieur  Fauvel's?  Yes?  Come 
on,  then;  we  have  certainly  earned  our  breakfast  to-day." 


CHAPTER  Vni. 

When  Raoul  de  Lagors  spoke  of  M.  Fauvel's  extraordinary 
dejection  he  had  not  exaggerated. 

Since  the  fatal  day  when,  upon  his  denunciation,  his  cashier 
had  been  arrested,  the  banker,  this  active,  energetic  man  of 
business,  had  been  a  prey  to  the  most  gloomy  melancholy,  and 
absolutely  refused  to  take  any  interest  in  his  affairs,  seldom 
entering  the  banking-house. 


FILE    NO.    113.  101 

He,  who  had  always  been  so  domestic,  never  came  near  his 
family  except  at  meals,  when  he  would  swallow  a  few  mouth- 
fuls  and  hastily  leave  the  room. 

Shut  up  in  his  study,  he  would  deny  himself  to  visitors. 
His  anxious  countenance,  his  indifference  to  everybody  and 
everything,  his  constant  reveries  and  fits  of  abstraction  be- 
trayed the  preoccupation  of  some  fixed  idea,  or  the  tyrannical 
empire  of  some  hidden  sorrow. 

The  day  of  Prosper's  release,  about  three  o'clock,  M.  Fau- 
vel  was,  as  usual,  seated  in  his  study,  with  his  elbows  resting 
on  the  table,  and  liis  face  buried  in  his  hands,  when  his  oflBce- 
boy  rushed  in,  and  with  a  frightened  lool<:,  said: 

**  Monsieur,  the  former  cashier.  Monsieur  Bertomy,  is  here 
with  one  of  his  relatives;  he  says  he  must  see  you  on  business.'* 

The  banker  at  these  words  started  as  if  he  had  been  shot. 

*'  Prosper!"  he  cried,  in  a  voice  choked  by  anger,  *'  what! 
does  he  dare — " 

Then  remembering  that  he  ought  to  control  himself  before 
his  servant,  he  waited  a  few  moments,  and  then  said,  in  a  tone 
of  forced  calmness: 

"  Ask  them  to  walk  in." 

If  M.  Verduret  had  counted  upon  witnessing  a  strange  and 
affecting  sight,  he  was  not  disappointed. 

Nothing  could  be  more  terrible  than  the  attitude  of  ^these 
two  men  as  they  stood  confronting  each  other.  The  banker's 
face  was  almost  purple  with  suppressed  anger,  and  he  looked 
as  if  about  to  be  struck  by  apoplexy.  Prosper  was  as  pale 
and  motionless  as  a  corpse. 

Silent  and  immovable,  they  stood  glaring  at  each  other  with 
mortal  hatred. 

M.  Verduret  curiously  watched  these  two  enemies,  with  the 
indifference  and  coolness  of  a  philosopher,  who,  in  the  most 
violent  outbursts  of  human  passion,  merely  sees  subjects  for 
meditation  and  study. 

Finally,  the  silence  becoming  more  and  more  threatening, 
he  decided  to  break  it  by  speaking  to  the  banker: 

"  I  suppose  you  know,  monsieur,  that  my  young  relative 
has  just  been  released  from  prison." 

*'  Yes,"  replied  M.  Fauvel,  making  an  effort  to  control 
himself,  *'  yes,  for  want  of  sufficient  proof." 

**  Exactly  so,  monsieur,  and  this  want  of  proof,  as  stated  in 
the  decision  of  '  Not  proven,'  ruins  the  prospects  of  my  tela- 
sive,  and  compels  him  to  leave  here  aLQjice  for  Aigerica." 

M.  Fauvel's  features  relaxed  a^^Djj^iiadl^i^y^wlieved  of 
some  fearful  airony.  •'"'"'"^^^obar''-  '^^'^' 


102  FILE    KO.    113. 

"  Ah,  he  IS  going  away,"  he  said,  "  he  is  going  abroad.** 

There  was  no  mistaking  the  resentful,  almost  insulting  ii> 
tonation  of  the  words,  *'  going  away!** 

M.  Verduret  took  no  notice  of  M.  Fauvel's  manner. 

*'  It  appears  to  me/*  he  continued  in  an  easy  tone,  *'  thai 
Prosper's  determination  is  a  wise  one.  I  mertly  wished  him, 
before  leaving  Paris,  to  come  and  pay  his  respects  to  his  former 
chief.** 

The  banker  smiled  bitterly. 

"  Monsieur  Bertomy  might  have  spared  us  both  this  painful 
meeting.  I  have  nothing  to  say  to  him,  and  of  course  he  can 
have  nothing  ta  tell  me.** 

This  was  a  formal  dismissal;  and  M.  Verduret,  understand- 
ing it  thus,  bowed  to  M.  Fauvel,  accompanied  by  Prosper, 
who  had  not  opened  his  lips. 

They  had  reached  the  street  before  Prosper  recovered  the 
use  of  his  tongue. 

"  I  hope  you  are  satisfied,  monsieur,**  he  said,  in  a  gloomy 
tone:  *' you  exacted  this  painful  step,  and  I  could  only 
acquiesce.  Have  I  gained  anything  by  adding  this  humiliation 
to  the  others  which  I  have  suffered?** 

"  You  have  not,  but  I  have,**  replied  M.  Verduret.  "  I 
could  find  no  w^y  of  gaining  access  to  M.  Fauvel,  save  through 
you;  and  now  I  have  found  out  what  I  wanted  to  know.  I 
am  convinced  that  M.  Fauvel  had  nothing  to  do  with  the  rob' 
bery.** 

"Oh,  monsieur!**  objected  Prosper,  "innocence  can  be 
feigned.** 

"  Certainly,  but  not  to  this  extent.  And  this  is  not  all.  1 
wished  to  find  out  if  M.  Fauvel  would  be  accessible  to  certain 
suspicions.     I  am  now  confident  that  he  is.** 

Prosper  and  his  companion  had  stopped  to  talk  more  at 
their  ease,  near  the  corner  of  the  Eue  Lafitte,  in  the  middle 
of  a  large  space  which  had  lately  been  cleared  by  pulling  down 
an  old  house. 

M.  Verduret  seemed  to  be  anxious,  and  was  constantly  look* 
ing  around  as  if  he  expected  some  one. 

lie  soon  uttered  an  exclamation  of  satisfaction. 

At  the  other  end  of  the  vacant  space,  he  saw  Cavaillon,  who 
Was  bareheaded  and  running. 

He  was  so  excited  that  he  did  not  even  stop  to  shake  hands 
with  Prosper,  but  darted  up  to  M.  Verduret,  and  said: 

"  They  have  gone,  monsieur!'* 

**  How  long  since?'* 

"  They  went  about  a  quarter  of  an  hour  ago.  ** 


PILE    KO.    lis.  103 

**  The  deuce  they  did!    Then  we  have  not  an  instant  t« 

loBB.  '* 

He  handed  Cavaillon  the  note  he  had  written  some  hourj 
before  at  Prosper's  house. 

"Here,  send  him  this,  and  then  return  at  once  to  youi 
desk;  you  might  be  missed.  It  was  very  imprudent  in  you 
to  come  out  vvithout  your  hat.^' 

Cavaillon  ran  off  as  quickly  as  he  had  come.  Prosper  wa« 
etupefied. 

*'  What!*'  he  exclaimed.     "  You  know  Cavaillon?" 

"  {So  it  seems/'  answered  M.  Verduret,  with  a  smile;  "  but 
we  have  no  time  to  talk:  come  on,  hurry!" 

**  Where  are  we  going  now?"    - 

"  You  will  soon  know;  walk  fast!" 

And  he  set  the  example  by  striding  rapidly  toward  the  Rue 
Lafayette.  As  they  went  along  he  continued  talking  more  to 
himself  than  to  Prosper. 

**  Ah,"  said  he,  "  it  is  not  by  putting  both  feet  in  one  shoe 
that  one  wins  a  race.  The  track  once  found  we  should  never 
rest  an  instant.  When  the  savage  discovers  the  foot-prints  of 
an  enemy,  he  follows  it  persistently,  knowing  that  falling  rain 
or  a  gust  of  wind  may  efface  the  foot-prints  at  any  moment. 
Jt  is  the  same  with  us;  the  most  trifling  incident  may  destroy 
the  traces  we  are  following  up." 

M.  Verduret  suddenly  stopped  before  a  door  bearing  the 
number  81. 

"  We  are  going  in  here,"  he  said  to  Prosper;  '*  come." 

They  went  up  the  steps,  and  stopped  on  the  second  floor, 
before  a  door  over  which  was  a  large  sign,  "Fashionable 
Dress-maker. " 

A  handsome  bell-rope  hung  on  the  wall,  but  M.  Verduret 
did  not  touch  it.  He  tapped  with  the  ends  of  his  fingers  in  a 
peculiar  way,  and  the  door  instantly  opened  as  if  some  one  had 
hdQn.  watching  for  his  signal  on  the  other  side. 

The  door  was  opened  by  a  neatly  dressed  woman  of  about 
forty.  She  quietly  ushered  M.  Verduret  and  Prosper  into  a 
neat  dining-room  with  several  doors  opening  into  it. 

This  woman  bowed  humbly  to  M.  Verduret,  as  if  he  was 
some  superior  being. 

He  scarcely  noticed  her  salutation,  but  questioned  her  with 
A  look.     His  look  said: 

"  Well?" 

She  bowed  affirmatively: 

"Yes.' 


104  PItB    NO.    Il5. 

"  In  there?**  asked  M.  Verduret,  in  a  low  tone,  pointing  to 
one  of  the  doors. 

**  No/'  said  the  woman,  in  the  same  tone;  *'  over  there,  ia 
the  h'ttle  parlor.  ** 

M.  Verduret  opened  the  door  pointed  out,  and  pushed  Pros- 
per into  the  little  parlor,  whispering  as  he  did  so: 

"  Go  in,  and  keep  your  presence  of  mind." 

But  this  injunction  was  useless.  The  instant  lie  cast  his 
eyes  around  the  room  into  which  he  had  so  unceremoniously 
been  pushed  without  any  warning.  Prosper  exclaimed  in  a 
startled  voice: 

"  Madeleine." 

It  was  indeed  M.  Fauvel's  niece,  looking  more  beautiful 
than  ever.  Hers  was  that  calm,  dignified  beauty,  which  im- 
poses admiration  and  respect. 

Standing  in  the  middle  of  the  room,  near  a  table  covered 
with  silks  and  satins,  she  was  arranging  a  skirt  of  red  velvet 
embroidered  in  gold;  probably  the  dress  she  was  to  wear  as 
maid  of  honor  to  Catherine  de  Medicis. 

At  sight  of  Prosper,  all  the  blood  rushed  to  her  face,  and 
her  beautiful  eyes  half  closed,  as  if  she  were  about  to  faint;  she 
clung  to  the  table  to  prevent  herself  from  falling. 

Prosper  well  knew  that  Madeleine  was  not  one  of  those 
cold-hearted  women  whom  nothing  could  disturb,  and  who  feel 
sensations,  but  never  a  true  sentiment. 

Of  a  tender,  dreamy  nature,  she  betrayed  in  the  minute  de- 
tails of  her  life  the  most  exquisite  delicacy.  But  she  was  also 
proud,  and  incapable  of  in  any  way  violating  her  conscience. 
When  duty  spoke,  she  obeyed. 

She  recovered  from  her  momentary  weakness,  and  the  soft 
expression  of  her  eyes  changed  to  one  of  haughty  resentment. 

In  an  offended  tone,  she  said: 

"  What  has  emboldened  you,  monsieur,  to  be  watching  my 
movements?  Who  gave  you  permission  to  follow  me,  to  enter 
this  house?'* 

Prosper  was  certainly  innocent.  He  would  have  given 
worlds  to  explain  what  had  just  happened,  but  he  was  power- 
less, ana  could  only  remain  silent. 

"  You  promised  me  upon  your  honor,  monsieur,**  con- 
tinued Madeleine,  "  that  you  would  never  again  seek  my  prea- 
ence.     Is  this  the  way  you  keep  your  word? 

"  I  did  promise,  mademoiselle,  but — *' 

He  stopped. 

**  Oh,  speak!*' 

**  So  many  things  have  happened  since  that  terrible  dar. 


FILE    NO.    113.  105 

tiiat  I  think  I  am  excusable  in  forgetting,  for  one  hour,  an 
oath  torn  from  me  in  a  moment  of  blind  weakness.  It  is  to 
chance,  at  least  to  another  will  than  my  own,  that  I  am  in- 
debted for  the  happiness  of  once  more  finding  myself  near  you. 
Alas!  the  instant  I  saw  you  my  heart  bounded  with  joy.  I 
did  not  think — no,  I  could  not  think — that  you  would  prove 
more  pitiless  than  strangers  have  been,  that  you  would  cast 
me  off  when  I  am  so  miserable  and  heart-broken. " 

Had  not  Prosper  been  so  agitated,  he  could  have  read  in 
the  eyes  of  Madeleine — those  beautiful  eyes  which  had  so  long 
been  the  arbiters  of  his  destiny — the  signs  of  a  great  inward 
struggle. 

It  was,  however,  in  a  firm  voice  that  she  replied: 

"  You  know  me  well  enough,  Prosper,  to  be  sure  that  no 
blow  can  strike  you  without  reaching  me  at  the  same  time. 
You  suffer,  I  suffer  with  you;  I  pity  you  as  a  sister  would  pity 
a  beloved  brother. '' 

"A  sister!*'  said  Prosper,  bitterly.  "Yes,  that  was  the 
word  you  used  the  day  you  banished  me  from  your  -presence. 
A  sister!  Then  why  during  three  years  did  you  delude  me 
with  vain  hopes?  Was  I  a  brother  to  you  the  day  we  went  to 
Notre  Dame  de  Fourvieres — that  day,  when,  at  the  foot  of 
the  altar,  we  swore  to  love  each  other  for  ever  and  ever,  and 
you  fastened  around  my  neck  a  holy  relic  and  said,  '  Wear 
this  always  for  my  sake,  never  part  from  it,  and  it  will  bring 
you  good  fortune!'  " 

Madeleine  attempted  to  interrupt  him  by  a  supplicating 
gesture;  he  would  not  heed  it,  but  continued  with  increased 
bitterness: 

'*  One  month  after  that  happy  day— a  year  ago — you  gave 
me  back  my  promise,  told  me  to  consider  myself  free  from 
any  engagement,  and  never  to  come  near  you  again.  If  I 
could  have  discovered  in  what  way  I  have  offended  you.  But 
no,  you  refused  to  explain.  You  drove  me  away,  and  to  obey 
you  I  told  every  one  that  I  had  left  you  of  my  own  accord. 
You  told  me  that  an  invincible  obstacle  had  arisen  between 
ns,  and  I  believed  you,  fool  that  I  was!  The  obstacle  was 
your  own  lieart,  Madeleine.  I  have  always  worn  the  medal; 
out  it  has  not  brought  me  happiness  or  good  fortune.'' 

As  white  and  motionless  as  a  statue,  Madeleine  stood  with 
bowed  head  before  the  storm  of  passionate  reproach. 

*'  I  told  you  to  forget  me,"  she  murmured. 

"Forget!"  exclaimed  Prosper,  excitedly,  "  forget!  Can  I 
forget!  Is  it  in  my  power  to  stop  by  an  effort  of  will  the  cir- 
enlation  of  my  blood?    Ah!  you  have  never  loved!    To  forget, 


X06  FILE    NO.    113. 

US  to  stop  the  beatings  of  the  heart,  there  is  but  one  taeans-* 
death!" 

This  w)rd,  uttered  with  the  fixed  determination  of  a  des- 
perate, reckless  man,  caused  Madeleine  to  shudder. 

**  Miserable  man!'^  she  exclaired. 

*'  Yes,  miserable  man,  and  a  thousand  times  more  miserable 
than  you  can  imagine!  You  can  never  understand  the  torturei 
I  have  suffered  when  for  a  year  I  would  awake  every  morning, 
and  say  to  myself,  '  It  is  all  over,  she  has  ceased  to  love  me  I' 
This  great  sorrow  stared  me  in  the  face  day  and  night  in  spite 
of  all  my  efforts  to  dispel  it.  And  you  speak  of  forgetful- 
uess!  I  sought  it  at  the  bottom  of  poisoned  cups,  but  found 
it  not.  I  tried  to  extinguish  this  memory  of  the  past,  that 
tears  my  heart  to  shreds  like  a  devouring  flame;  in  vain. 
When  the  body  succumbed,  the  pitiless  heart  kept  watch. 
With  this  corroding  torture  making  life  a  burden,  do  you  won- 
der that  I  should  seek  rest  which  can  only  be  obtained  by  sui- 
cide?'' 

"  I  forbid  you  to  utter  that  word. " 

**  You  forget,  Madeleine,  that  you  have  no  right  to  forbid 
me,  unless  you  love  me.  Love  would  make  you  all  powerful, 
and  me  obedient.'* 

With  an  imperious  gesture,  Madeleine  interrupted  him  as  if 
slie  wished  to  speak,  and  perhaps  to  explain  all,  to  exculpate 
herself. 

But  a  sudden  thought  stopped  her;  she  clasped  her  hands 
d:espairingly,  and  cried: 

My  God!  this  suffering  is  beyond  endurance!'* 

Prosper  seemed  to  misconstrue  her  words. 

"  Your  pity  comes  too  late,"  he  said.  "  There  is  no  hap- 
piness in  store  for  one  like  myself,  who  has  had  a  glimpse  of 
divine  felicity,  had  the  cup  of  bliss  held  to  his  lips,  and  then 
dashed  to  the  ground.  There  is  nothing  left  to  attach  me  to 
life.  You  have  destroyed  my  holiest  beliefs;  I  came  forth 
from  prison  disgraced  by  my  enemies;  what  is  to  become  of 
me?  Vainly  do  I  question  the  future;  for  me  there  is  no  hope 
of  happiness.  I  look  around  me  to  see  nothing  but  abandon- 
ment, ignominy,  and  despair!'' 

"  Prosper,  my  brother,  my  friend,  if  you  only  knew—'* 

*'  I  know  but  one  thing,  Madeleine,  and  that  is,  that  you  na 
longer  love  me,  and  that  I  love  you  more  madly  than  ever. 
Oh,  Madeleine,  God  only  knows  how  I  love  you!" 

He  was  silent.     He  hoped  for  an  answer.  ^  None  came. 

But  suddenly  the  silence  was  broken  by  a  stifled  sob. 


PILE    NO.    113.  '  lOT 

It  was  Madeleine's  maid,  who,  seated  in  a  corner,  was  weep- 
ing bitterly. 

Madeleine  had  forgotten  her  presence. 

Prosper  had  been  so  surprised  at  finding  Madeleine  when 
he  entered  the  room,  that  he  kept  his  eyes  fastened  upon  her 
face,  and  never  once  looked  about  him  to  see  if  any  one  else 
were  present. 

He  turned  in  surprise,  and  looked  at  the  weeping  woman. 

He  was  not  mistaken;  this  neatly  dressed  waiting-maid  was 
Nina  Gipsy. 

Prosper  was  so  startled  that  he  became  perfectly  dumb.  He 
stood  there  with  ashy  lips,  and  a  chilly  sensation  creeping 
through  his  veins. 

The  horror  of  the  situation  terrified  him.  He  was  there, 
between  the  two  women  who  had  ruled  his  fate;  between 
Madeleine,  the  proud  heiress  who  spurned  his  love,  and  Nina 
Gipsy,  the  poor  girl  whose  devotion  to  himself  he  had  so  dis- 
dainfully rejected. 

And  she  had  heard  all;  poor  Gipsy  had  witnessed  the  pas. 
sionate  avowal  of  her  lover,  had  heard  him  swear  that  he  could 
never  love  any  woman  but  Madeleine,  that  if  his  love  were  not 
reciprocated  he  would  kill  himself,  as  he  had  nothing  else  to 
live  for. 

Prosper  could  j  udge  of  her  sufferings  by  his  own.  For  she 
was  wounded  not  only  in  the  present,  but  in  the  past.  What 
must  be  her  humiliation  and  anger  on  hearing  the  miserable 
part  which  Prosper,  in  his  disappointed  love,  had  imposed 
upon  her? 

He  was  astonished  that  Gipsy — ^violence  itself — remained 
silently  weeping  instead  of  rising  and  bitterly  denouncing  him. 

Meanwhile  Madeleine  had  succeeded  in  recovering  her  usual 
calmness. 

Slowly  and  almost  unconsciously,  she  had  put  on  her  bonnet 
and  shawl,  which  were  lying  on  the  sofa. 

Then  she  approached  Prosper,  and  said: 

"  Why  did  you  come  here?  We  both  have  need  of  all  the 
courage  we  can  command.  You  are  unhappy,  Prosper;  I  am 
more  than  unhappy,  I  am  most  wretched.  You  have  a  right 
to  complain;  I  have  not  the  right  to  shed  a  tear.  While  my 
heart  is  slowly  breaking,  I  must  wear  a  smiling  face.  You 
can  seek  consolation  in  the  bosom  of  a  friend:  I  can  have  no 
confidant  but  God.*' 

Prosper  tried  to  murmur  a  reply,  but  his  pale  lips  refused  to 
lirticulate;  he  was  stifling. 

"  I  wish  to  tell  you,''  continued  Madeleine,  *'  that  I  havo 


108  FILE    KO.    113. 

forgotten  notbirig.  But  oh!  let  not  this  knowledge  give  yoq 
any  hope;  the  luture  is  blank  for  us,  but  if  you  Iovb  me  ynu 
will  live.  You  will  not,  I  know,  add  to  my  already  heavy 
burden  of  sorrow,  the  agony  of  mourning  your  death.  For 
my  sake,  live;  live  the  life  of  a  good  man,  and  perhaps  the  day 
will  come  when  I  can  justify  myself  in  your  eyes.  And  now, 
oh  my  brother,  oh  my  only  friend,  adieu!  adieu!'' 

She  pressed  a  kiss  upon  his  brow,  and  rushed  from  the  room, 
followed  by  Nina  Gipsy. 

Prosper  was  alone.  He  seemed  to  be  awaking  from  a 
troubled  dream.  He  tried  to  think  over  what  had  just  hap- 
pened, and  asked  himself  if  he  were  losing  his  mind,  or  whether 
he  had  really  spoken  to  Madeleine  and  seen  Gipsy? 

He  was  obliged  to  attribute  all  this  to  the  mysterious  power 
of  the  strange  man  whom  he  had  seen  for  the  first  time  that 
very  morning. 

How  did  he  gain  this  wonderful  power  of  controlling  events 
to  suit  his  own  purposes.^ 

He  seemed  to  have  anticipated  everything,  to  know  every- 
thing. He  was  acquainted  with  Cavaillon.  He  knew  all 
Madeleine's  movements;  he  had  made  even  Gipsy  become 
humble  and  submissive. 

Thinking  all  this,  Prosper  had  reached  such  a  degree  of  ex- 
asperation, that  when  M.  Verduret  entered  the  little  parlor, 
he  strode  toward  him  white  with  rage,  and  in  a  harsh,  threat- 
ening voice,  said  to  him: 

*'  Who  are  you?" 

The  stout  man  did  not  show  any  surprise  at  this  burst  of 
anger,  but  quietly  answered : 

"  A  friend  of  your  father's,  did  you  not  know  it?" 

*'  This  is  no  answer,  monsieur;  I  have  been  surprised  into 
being  influenced  by  a  stranger,  but  now — " 

"  Do  you  want  my  biography — what  I  have  been,  what  I 
am,  and  what  I  may  be?  What  difference  does  it  make  to 
you?  I  told  you  that  1  would  save  you;  the  main  point  is  that 
1  am  saving  you. " 

"  Still  I  have  the  right  to  ask  by  what  means  you  are  saving 
me." 

*'  What  good  will  it  do  you  to  know  what  my  plans  are?'* 

**  In  order  to  decide  whether  I  will  accept  or  reject  them." 

*'  But  suppose  I  guarantee  success?" 

**  That  is  not  sufficient,  monsieur.  I  do  not  choose  to  be 
any  longer  deprived  of  my  own  free  will,  to  be  exposed  with- 
out warning,  to  trials  like  those  I  have  undergone  to-day.  4 
man  of  my  age  must  know  what  he  is  doing?'° 


FILE    NO.    113.  109 

"  A  man  of  your  age.  Prosper,  when  he  is  blind,  takes  a 
guide,  and  does  not  undertake  to  point  out  the  way  to  his 
leader.*' 

The  half-bantering,  half -commiserating  tone  of  M.  Verduret 
was  not  calculated  to  calm  Prosper's  irritation. 

"  That  being  the  case,  monsieur,**  he  cried,  "  I  will  thank 
you  for  your  past  services,  and  decline  them  for  the  future,  as 
I  have  no  need  of  them.  If  I  attempted  to  defend  my  honor 
and  my  life,  it  was  because  I  hoped  that  Madeleine  would  be 
restored  to  me.  I  have  been  convinced  to-day  that  all  is  at  an 
end  between  us;  I  retire  from  the  struggle,  and  care  not  what 
becomes  of  me  now.** 

Prosper  was  so  decided,  that  M.  Verduret  seemed  alarmed- 

"  You  must  be  mad,*'  he  finally  said. 

"  No,  unfortunately  I  am  not.  Madeleine  has  ceased  to 
love  me,  and  of  what  importance  is  anything  else?** 

His  heart-broken  tone  aroused  M.  Verduret's  sympathy,  and 
he  said,  in  a  kind,  soothing  tone. 

"  Tben  you  suspect  nothing?  You  did  not  fathom  the  mean- 
ing of  what  she  said?** 

"  You  were  hstening!'*  cried  Prosper,  fiercely. 

"  I  certainly  was.** 

"Monsieur!** 

"  Yes.  It  was  a  presumptuous  thing  to  do,  perhaps;  but 
the  end  justified  the  means  m  this  instance.  I  am  glad  I  did 
listen,  because  it  has  enabled  me  to  say  to  you:  Take  courage. 
Prosper;  Mademoiselle  Madeleine  loves  you;  she  has  never 
ceased  to  love  you.** 

Like  a  dying  man  who  eagerly  listens  to  deceitful  promises 
of  recovery,  although  he  feels  himself  sinking  into  the  grave, 
did  Prosper  feel  his  sad  heart  cheered  by  M.  verduret's  asser- 
tion. 

"Oh,**  he  murmured,  suddenly  calmed,  "if  I  only  could 
hope!'* 

Rely  upon  me,  I  am  not  mistaken.  Ah,  I  could  see  the 
torture  endured  by  this  generous  girl  while  she  struggled  be- 
tween her  love  and  what  she  believed  to  be  her  duty.  Were 
you  not  convinced  of  her  love  when  she  bade  you  farewell?** 

"  She  loves  me,  she  is  free,  and  yet  she  shuns  me.** 

"  No,  she  is  not  free!  In  breaking  off  her  engagement 
with  you,  she  was  governed  by  some  powerful,  irrepressible 
event.  She  is  sacrificing  herself — for  whom?  We  shall  soon 
know;  and  the  secret  of  her  self-sacrifice  will  discover  to  us  the 
lecret  of  the  plot  against  you.** 

As  M.  Verduret  spoke,  Proesner  felt  all  his  resolutions  of 


J 10  PILE    NO.    113. 

rerolt  slowly  melting  away,  and  their  place  token  by  confidenot 
and  hope. 

"  If  what  you  say  were  true!"  he  mournfully  said. 

"Foolish  young  man!  Why  do  you  persist  in  obstinately 
Bhutfcing  your  eyes  to  the  proof  I  place  before  you?  Can  you 
not  see  that  Mademoiselle  Madeleine  knows  who  the  thief  is? 
Yes,  you  need  not  look  so  shocked:  she  knows  the  thief,  but 
no  human  power  can  tear  it  from  her.  She  sacrifices  you, 
but  then  she  almost  has  the  right,  since  she  first  sacrificed  her- 
self.'' 

Prosper  was  almost  convinced;  and  it  nearly  broke  his  heart 
to  leave  this  little  parlor  where  he  had  seen  Madeleine. 

"  Alas!'*  he  said,  pressing  M.  Verduret's  hand,  "  you  must 
think  me  a  ridiculous  fool!  but  you  don't  know  how  I  suffer." 

The  man  with  the  red  whiskers  sadly  shook  his  head,  and 
his  voice  sounded  very  unsteady,  as  he  replied  in  a  low  tone: 

"  What  you  suffer,  I  have  suffered.  Like  you,  I  loved,  not 
a  pure,  noble  girl,  yet  a  girl  fair  to  look  upon.  For  three 
years  I  was  at  her  feet,  a  slave  to  her  every  whim;  when,  one 
day,  she  suddenly  deserted  me  who  adored  her,  to  throw  her- 
self in  the  arms  of  a  man  who  despised  her.  Then,  like  you, 
I  wished  to  die.  Neither  threats  nor  entreaties  could  indue© 
her  to  return  to  me.  Passion  never  reasons,  and  she  loved  mj 
rival." 

"  And  did  you  know  this  rival?*' 

"I  knew  him." 

"  And  you  did  not  seek  revenge?" 

'*  No,"  replied  M.  Verduret,  with  a  singular  expression, 
*'  no:  fate  took  charge  of  my  vengeance." 

For  a  moment  Prosper  was  silent;  then  he  said: 

*'  I  have  finally  decided,  monsieur.  My  honor  is  a  sacred 
trust  for  which  I  must  account  to  my  family.  I  am  ready  to 
follow  you  to  the  end  of  the  world;  dispose  of  me  as  you  judge 
proper." 

That  same  day  Prosper,  faithful  to  his  promise,  sold  his 
furniture,  and  wrote  a  letter  to  his  friends  announcing  his  in- 
tended departure  for  San  Francisco. 

In  the  evening  he  and  M.  Verduret  installed  themselves  in 
the  Archangel. 

Mme.  Alexandre  gave  Prosper  her  prettiest  room,  but  it 
was  very  ugly  compared  with  the  coquettish  little  parlor  on 
the  Rue  Chaptal.  His  state  of  mind  did  not  permit  him, 
however,  to  notice  the  difference  between  his  former  and 
present  quartera     He  lay  on  an  old  sofa,  meditating  upon  the 


FILE    NO.    113.  Ill 

events  of  the  day,  and  feeling  a  bitter  satisfaction  in  hij 
isolated  condition. 

About  eleven  o'clock  he  thought  he  would  raise  the  window, 
•itid  let  the  cool  air  fan  his  burning  brow;  as  he  did  so  a  piece 
of  paper  was  blown  from  among  the  folds  of  the  window-cur- 
tain, and  lay  at  his  feet  on  the  floor. 

Prosper  mechanically  picked  it  up,  and  looked  at  it. 

It  was  covered  with  writing,  the  handwriting  of  Nina  Gipsy; 
he  could  not  be  mistaken  about  that. 

It  was  the  fragment  of  a  torn  letter;  and,  if  the  half  sen- 
tences did  not  convey  any  clear  meaning,  they  were  sufficient 
to  lead  the  mind  into  all  sorts  of  conjectures. 

The  fragment  read  as  follows: 

"of  M.  Raoul,  I  have  been  very  im 

plotted  against  him,  of  whom  never 

warn  Prosper,  and  then 

best  friend,  he 

hand  of  Mile.  Ma " 

Prosper  never  closed  his  eyes  during  that  night. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

Not  far  from  the  Palais  Koyal,  in  the  Rue  St.  Honore  is 
the  sign  of  La  Bonne  Foi,  a  small  establishment,  half  cafe  and 
half  shop,  extensively  patronized  by  the  people  of  the  neigh- 
borhood. 

It  was  in  the  smoking-room  of  this  modest  cafe  that  Prosper, 
the  day  after  his  release,  awaited  M.  Verduret,  who  had  prom- 
ised to  meet  him  at  four  o'clock. 

The  clock  struck  four;  M.  Verduret,  who  was  punctuality 
itself,  Appeared.  He  was  more  red-faced  and  self-satisfied,  if 
possible,  than  the  day  before. 

As  soon  as  the  servant  had  left  the  room  to  obey  his  orders, 
he  said  to  Prosper: 

"  Well,  are  our  commissions  executed?" 

"  Yes,  monsieur." 

*'  Have  you  seen  the  costumer?" 

"  I  gave  him  your  letter,  and  everything  you  ordered  will 
be  sent  to  the  Archangel  to-morrow. " 

"Very  good;  you  have  not  lost  time,  neither  have  I.  I 
have  good  news  for  you." 

The  Bonne  Foi  is  almost  deserted  at  four  o'clock.  The  hour 
for  coffee  is  passed,  and  the  hour  for  absin^e  has  not  ya) 


113  FILE    NO.    113. 

odme.   M.  Verduret  and  Prosper  could  talk  at  their  ease  witi* 
out  fear  of  being  overheard  by  gossiping  neighbors. 

M.  Verduret  drew  forth  his  memorandum-book,  the  preciouK 
diary  wliich,  like  the  enchanted  book  in  the  fairy-tale^  had  aa 
answer  for  every  question. 

"  While  awaiting  our  emissaries  whom  I  appointed  to  meet 
here,  let  us  devote  a  little  time  to  Monsieur  de  Lagors.** 

At  this  name  Prosper  did  not  protest,  as  he  had  done  the 
night  previous.  Like  those  imperceptible  insects  which,  hav- 
ing once  penetrated  the  root  .of  a  tree,  devour  it  in  a  single 
night,  suspicion,  when  it  invades  our  mind,  soon  develops  it- 
self, and  destroys  our  firmest  beliefs. 

The  visit  of  Lagors,  and  Gipsy's  torn  letter,  had  filled  Pros- 
per with  suspicions  which  had  grown  stronger  and  more  settled 
Ks  time  passed. 

*'  Do  you  know,  my  dear  friend,*'  said  M.  Verduret,  "  what 
part  of  France  this  devoted  friend  of  yours  comes  from?" 

**  He  was  born  at  St.  Eemy,  which  is  also  Madame  Fauvera 
native  town." 

"  Are  you  certain  of  that?" 

*'  Oh,  perfectly  so,  monsieur!  He  has  not  only  often  told 
me  so,  but  I  have  heard  him  tell  Monsieur  Fauvel;  and  he 
would  talk  to  Madame  Fauvel  by  the  hour  about  his  mother, 
who  was  cousin  to  Madame  Fauvel,  and  dearly  beloved  by 
her.'' 

"  Then  you  think  there  is  no  possible  mistake  or  falsehood 
about  this  part  of  his  story?" 

"  None  in  the  least,  monsieur." 

"  Well,  things  are  assuming  a  queer  look." 

And  he  began  to  whistle  between  his  teeth;  which,  with 
M.  Verduret,  was  a  sign  of  intense  inward  satisfaction. 

*'  What  seems  so,  monsieur?"  inquired  Prosper. 

*'  What  has  just  happened;  what  I  have  been  tracing. 
Parbleu!"  as  he  exclaimed,  imitating  the  manner  of  a  show- 
man at  a  fair,  '*  here  is  a  lovely  town,  called  St.  Eemy,  six 
thousand  inhabitants,  charming  boulevards  on  the  site  of  the 
old  fortifications;  handsome  hotel;  numerous  fountains;  large 
charcoal  market,  silk  factories,  famous  hospital,  and  so  on." 

Prosper  was  on  thorns. 

**  Please  be  so  good,  monsieur,  as  to  explain  what  you — " 

**  It  also  contains,"  continued  M.  Verduret,  "  a  Roman 
triumphal  arch,  which  is  of  unparalleled  beauty,  and  a  Greek 
mausoleum;  but  no  Lagors.  St.  Eemy  is  the  native  town  of 
Nostradamus,  but  not  of  your  friend." 

"Yet  I  have  proofs." 


PILE    NO.    113.  -  113 

"  Naturally.  But  proofs  can  be  fabricated;  relatives  can  be 
improvised.  Your  evidence  is  open  to  suspicion.  My  proofs 
are  undeniable,  perfectly  authenticated.  "While  you  were  pin- 
ing in  prison,  I  was  preparing  my  batteries  and  collecting  mu- 
nition to  open  fire.  1  wrote  to  St.  Remy,  and  received  answers 
to  my  questions.^' 

"  Will  you  let  me  know  what  they  were?'* 

"  Have  patience,"  said  M.  Verduret  as  he  turned  over  tlio 
leaves  of  his  memoranda.  "  Ah,  here  is  number  one.  Bow 
respectfully  to  it,  *tis  official.'* 

He  then  read: 

*' '  Lagors.  Very  old  family,  originally  from  Maillane, 
settled  at  St.  Eemy  about  a  century  ago.*  ** 

"  I  told  you  so/*  cried  Prosper. 

"  Pray,  allow  me  to  finish/*  said  M.  Verduret. 

"  '  The  last  of  the  Lagors  (Jules-Rene-Henri)  bearing  with- 
out warrant  the  title  of  count,  married  in  1829  Mademoisella 
Rosalie  Clarisse  Fontanet,  of  Tarascon;  died  December,  1848, 
leaving  no  male  heir,  but  left  two  daughters.  The  registers 
make  no  mention  of  any  person  in  the  district  bearing  the 
name  of  Lagors.  * 

*'  Now,  what  do  you  think  of  this  information?**  queried  the 
rat  man,  with  a  triumphant  smile. 

Prosper  looked  amazed. 

*'  But  why  did  Monsieur  Fauvel  treat  Raoulashis  nephew?** 

"  Ah,  you  mean  as  his  wife's  nephew!  Let  us  examine  note 
number  two;  it  is  not  official,  but  it  throws  a  valuable  light 
upon  the  twenty  thousand  livres  income  of  your  friend. 

"  *  Jules- Rene- Henri  de  Lagors,  last  of  his  name,  died  at 
St.  Remy  on  the  29th  of  December,  1848,  in  a  state  of  great 
poverty.  He  at  one  time  was  possessed  of  a  moderate  fortune, 
but  invested  it  in  a  silk-worm  nursery,  and  lost  it  all. 

*'  '  He  had  no  son,  but  left  two  daughters,  ope  of  whom  is 
a  teacher  at  Aix,  and  the  other  married  a  retail  merchant  at 
Orgon.  His  widow,  at  Montagnette,  is  supported  entirely  by 
OBie  of  her  relatives,  the  wife  of  a  rich  banker  in  Paris.  "No 
porson  of  the  name  of  Lagors  lives  in  the  district  of  Aries.  * 

"That  is  all,**  said  M.  Verduret;  "  don*t  you  think  it 
enough?*' 

"  Really,  Qionsieur,  I  don't  know  whether  I  am  awake  or 
Creaming/' 


114  FILE    NO.    113. 

**  You  will  be  awake  after  awhile.  Now  I  wish  to  remark 
rme  thing.  Some  people  may  assert  that  the  Widow  Lagora 
had  a  child  born  after  her  husband's  death.  This  objection  is 
destroyed  by  the  age  of  your  friend.  Raoul  is  twenty-four,  and 
Monsieur  de  Lagors  has  not  been  dead  twenty  years.  ■*' 

**  But/'  said  Prosper,  thoughtfully,  "  who  can  Raoul  be?" 

"  I  don't  know.  The  fact  is,  I  am  more  perplexed  to  find 
out  who  he  is  than  to  know  who  he  is  not.  There  is  one 
man  who  could  give  us  all  the  information  we  seek,  but  he  will 
take  good  care  to  keep  his  mouth  shut." 

**  You  mean  Monsieur  de  Clameran?" 

"  Him,  and  no  one  else." 

"  I  have  always  felt  the  most  inexplicable  aversion  toward 
him.  Ah,  if  we  could  only  get  his  account  in  addition  to  what 
you  already  have!" 

"  I  have  been  furnished  with  a  few  notes  concerning  the 
Clameran  family  by  your  father,  who  knew  them  well;  they 
are  brief,  but  I  expect  more." 

"  What  did  my  father  tell  you?" 

*'  Nothing  favorable,  you  may  be  sure.  I  will  read  you  thn 
synopsis  of  his  information: 

*'  *  Louis  de  Clameran  was  born  at  the  Chateau  de  ClamO' 
ran,  near  Tarascon.  He  had  an  elder  brother  named  Gaston, 
who,  in  consequence  of  an  affray  in  which  he  had  the  misfort- 
une to  kill  one  man  and  badly  wound  another,  was  compelled 
to  fly  the  country  in  1842.  Gaston  was  an  honest,  noble  youth, 
universally  beloved.  Louis,  on  the  contrary,  was  a  wicked, 
despicable  fellow,  detested  by  all  who  knew  him. 

'*  '  Upon  the  death  of  his  father,  Louis  came  to  Paris,  and 
m  less  than  two  years  had  squandered  not  only  his  own  patri- 
mony, but  also  the  share  of  his  exiled  brother. 

"  '  Ruined  and  harassed  by  debt,  Louis  entered  the  army, 
but  behaved  so  disgracefully  that  he  was  dismissed. 

**  '  After  leaving  the  army  we  lost  sight  of  him;  all  we  can 
discover  is,  that  he  went  to  England,  and  thence  to  a  German 
gambling  resort,  where  he  became  notorious  for  his  scandalous 
conduct. 

"  '  In  1865  we  find  him  again  in  Paris.  He  was  in  great 
poverty,  and  his  associates  were  among  the  most  depraved 
classes. 

"  '  But  he  suddenly  heard  of  the  return  of  his  brother  Gaa 
ton  to  France.  Gaston  had  made  a  fortune  in  Mexico;  but 
being  still  a  young  man,  and  accustomed  to  a  very  active  life, 
he  purchased,  near  Oloron*  an  iron-mill,  intending  to  S4)end 


FILE    2fO.    113.  115 

the  remainder  of  his  hfe  in  working  it.  Six  months  ago  ho 
died  in  the  arms  of  his  brother  Louis.  His  death  provided  our 
De  Olameran  an  immense  fortune,  and  the  title  of  marquis.'  " 

**  Then/*  said  Prosper,  "  from  all  this  I  judge  that  Mon- 
sieur de  Clameran  was  very  poor  when  I  met  him  for  the  first 
time  at  Monsieur  Fauvers?" 

**  Evidently." 

"  And  about  that  time  Lagors  arrived  from  the  country?'* 

"  Precisely.  '* 

"  And  about  a  month  after  his  appearance  Madeleine  sud- 
denly banished  me?" 

"  Well,"  exclaimed  M.  Verduret,  "  I  am  glad  you  are  be- 
ginning to  understand  the  state  of  affairs." 

He  was  interrupted  by  the  entrance  of  a  stranger. 

The  new-comer  was  a  dandified -looking  coachman,  with  ele- 
gant black  whiskers,  shining  boots  with  fancy  tops,  buff 
Breeches,  and  a  yellow  waistcoat  with  red  and  black  stripes. 

After  cautiously  looking  around  the  room,  he  walked  sti'aight 
up  to  the  table  wliere  M.  Verduret  sat. 

"  What  is  the  news.  Master  Joseph  Dubois?"  said  the  stout 
man,  eagerly. 

"  Ah,  patron,  don't  speak  of  it!"  answered  the  servant; 
**  things  are  getting  warm." 

Prosper  concentrated  all  his  attention  upon  this  superb 
domestic.  He  thought  he  recognized  his  face.  He  had  cer- 
tainly somewhere  seen  that  retreating  forehead  and  those  little 
restless  black  eyes,  but  where  and  when  he  could  not  remem- 
ber. 

Meanwhile,  Master  Joseph  had  taken  a  seat  at  a  table  ad- 

i'oining  the  one  occupied  by  M.  Verduret  and  Prosper;  and. 
Laving  called  for  some  absinthe,  was  preparing  it  by  holding 
the  water  aloft,  and  slowly  dropping  it  in  the  glass. 

"  Speak!"  said  M.  Verduret. 

"  In  the  first  place,  patron,  I  must  say  that  the  position  of 
valet  and  coachman  to  Monsieur  de  Olameran  is  not  a  bed  of 
roses." 

'*  Go  on:  come  to  the  point.  You  can  complain  to- 
morrow." 

"  Very  good.  "Yesterday  my  master  walked  out  at  two 
o'clock.  I,  of  course,  followed  him.  Do  you  know  where  he 
Went?  The  thing  was  as  good  as  a  farce.  He  went  to  the 
Archangel  to  keep  the  appointment  made  by  Nina  Gipsy." 

"  Well,  make  haste.    They  told  him  she  was  gone.    Then?" 

"  Then?    Ah,  he  was  not  at  all  Dleased,  I  can  tell  you.   Hq 


113  FILE    NO.    113. 

hurried  back  to  the  hotel  where  the  other,  Monsieur  de  Lagors, 
awaited  him.  And,  upon  my  soul,  I  have  never  heard  so 
much  swearing  in  my  life!  Monsieur  Raoul  asked  him  what 
had  happened  to  put  him  in  such  a  bad  humor.  '  Nothing,' 
replied  my  master,  '  except  that  little  devil  has  run  off,  and 
no  one  knows  where  she  is;  she  has  slipped  through  our 
fingers.'  Then  they  both  appeared  to  be  vexed  and  uneasy. 
Lagors  asked  if  she  knew  anything  serious:  '  ^he  knows  noth- 
ing but  what  I  told  you,'  replied  Clameran;  '  but  this  nothing, 
falling  in  the  ear  of  a  man  with  any  suspicions,  will  be  more 
than  enough  to  work  on. '  " 

M.  Verduret  smiled  like  a  man  who  had  his  reasons  for  ap- 
preciating at  their  just  value  De  Clameran's  fears. 

"  Well,  your  master  is  not  without  sense,  after  all;  don't 
you  think  he  showed  it  by  saying  that?" 

"  Yes,  patron.  Then  Lagors  exclaimed,  *  If  it  is  as  serious 
as  that,  we  must  get  rid  of  this  little  serpent!'  But  my  master 
shrugged  his  shoulders,  and  laughing  loudly  said,  '  You  talk 
like  an  idiot;  when  one  is  annoyed  by  a  woman  of  this  sort, 
one  must  take  measures  to  get  rid  of  her  administratively/ 
This  idea  seemed  to  amuse  them  both  very  much.  " 

"  I  can  understand  their  being  entertained  by  it,"  said  M. 
Verduret;  '*  it  is  an  excellent  idea;  but  the  misfortune  is,  it  is 
too  late  to  carry  it  out.  The  nothing  which  made  Clameran 
uneasy  has  already  fallen  into  a  knowing  ear." 

With  breathless  curiosity.  Prosper  listened  to  this  report, 
every  word  of  which  seemed  to  throw  light  upon  past  events. 
Now,  he  thought,  he  understood  the  fragment  of  Gipsy's  let^ 
ter.  He  saw  that  this  Baoul,  in  whom  he  had  confided  so 
deeply,  was  nothing  more  than  a  scoundrel.  A  thousand  little 
circumstances,  unnoticed  at  the  time,  now  recurred  to  his 
mind,  and  made  him  wonder  how  he  could  have  been  blind  so 
long. 

Master  Joseph  Dubois  continued  his  report: 

"  Yesterday,  after  dinner,  my  master  decked  himself  out 
like  a  bridegroom.  I  shaved  him,  curled  his  hair,  and  per- 
fumed him  with  especial  care,  after  which  I  drove  him  to  the 
Rue  de  Provence  to  call  on  Madame  Fauvel." 

*'  What!"  exclaimed  Prosper,  "  after  the  insulting  language 
he  used  the  day  of  the  robbery,  did  he  dare  to  visit  the  house?" 

"  Yes,  monsieur;  he  not  only  dared  this,  but  he  also  stayed 
there  until' midnight,  to  my  great  discomfort;  for  I  got  as  wel 
as  a  rat  waiting  for  him." 

"  How  did  he  look  when  he  came  out?"  asked  M.  Verduret 

**  Well,  he  certainly  looked  less  pleased  than  when  he  went 


FILE    NO.    113.  11? 

in.  After  putting  away  my  carriage,  and  rubbiog  down  my 
horses,  I  went  to  see  if  he  wanted  anything;  I  found  the  door 
locked,  and  he  swore  at  me  like  a  trooper  through  the  key- 
hole.*' 

And,  to  assist  the  digestion  of  this  insult.  Master  Joseph 
here  gulped  down  a  glass  of  absinthe. 

**  Is  that  all?*'  questioned  M.  Verduret. 

*'  All  that  occurred  yesterday,  patron;  but  this  morning  my 
master  rose  late,  still  in  a  horribly  bad  humor.  At  noon  Raoul 
arrived,  also  in  a  rage.  They  at  once  began  to  dispute,  and 
such  a  row!  Why  the  most  abandoned  house-breakers  and  pick- 
pockets would  have  blushed  to  hear  such  billingsgate.  At  one 
time  my  master  seized  the  other  by  the  throat  and  shook  him 
like  a  reed.  But  Raoul  was  too  quick  for  him;  he  saved  him. 
self  from  strangulation  by  drawing  out  a  sharp-pointed  knife, 
the  sight  of  which  made  my  master  drop  him  in  a  hurry,  I  can 
tell  you.'' 

*'  But  what  did  they  say?" 

**  Ah,  there  is  the  rub,  patron,'*  said  Joseph,  in  a  piteous 
tone,  "  the  scamps  spoke  English,  so  I  could  not  understand 
them.     But  I  am  sure  they  were  disputing  about  money." 

*'  How  do  you  know  that?" 

"  Because  I  learned  at  the  Exposition  that  the  word  *  argent ' 
meant  money  in  every  language  in  Europe;  and  this  word  they 
constantly  used  in  their  conversation." 

M.  Verduret  sat  with  knit  brows,  talking  in  an  under-tone  to 
himself;  and  Prosper,  who  was  watching  him,  wondered  if  he 
was  trying  to  understand  and  construct  the  dispute  by  mere 
force  of  reflection. 

"When  they  had  done  fighting,"  continued  Joseph,  *'the 
rascals  began  to  talk  in  French  again;  but  they  only  spoke  of 
a  fancy  ball  which  is  to  be  given  by  some  banker.  When  Raoul 
was  leaving,  my  master  said :  'Since  this  thing  is  inevitable, 
and  it  must  take  place  to-day,  you  had  better  remain  at  home, 
at  Vesinet,  this  evening.'    Raoul  replied:  '  Of  course.'  " 

Night  was  approaching,  and  the  smoking-room  was  gradu- 
ally filling  with  men,  who  called  for  absinthe  or  bitters,  and 
youths  who  perched  themselves  up  on  high  stools,  and  smoked 
their  pipes. 

"  It  is  time  to  go,'*  said  M.  Verduret;  *'  your  master  will 
want  you,  Joseph;  besides,  here  is  some  one  come  for  me.  1 
will  see  you  to-morrow." 

The  new-comer  was  no  other  than  Cavaillon,  more  troubled 
and  frightened  than  ever.     He  looked  uneasily  around  thi 


118  FIL-B    NO.    113. 

room,  as  if  he  expected  the  whole  police  force  to  appear.  Mid 
carry  him  off  to  prison. 

He  did  not  sit  down  at  M.  Verduret's  table,  but  stealthily 
gave  his  hand  to  Prosper,  and,  after  assuring  himself  that  no 
one  was  observing  them,  handed  M.  Verduret  a  package,  say- 
ing: 

*'  She  found  this  in  a  cupboard/' 

It  was  a  handsomely  bound  prayer-book.  M.  Verduret  rap- 
idly turned  over  the  leaves,  and  soon  found  the  pages  from 
which  the  words  pasted  on  Prosper's  letter  had  been  cut. 

"  I  had  moral  proofs/'  he  said,  handing  the  book  to  Pros- 
per, "  but  here  is  material  proof  sufficient  in  itself  to  save 
you. " 

When  Prosper  looked  at  the  book  he  turned  pale  as  a  ghost. 
He  recognized  this  prayer-book  instantly.  He  had  given  it  to 
Madeleine  in  exchange  for  the  medal. 

He  opened  it,  and  on  the  fly-leaf  Madeleine  had  written, 
*'  Souvenir  of  Notre  Dame  de  Fourvieres,  17  January,  1866." 

*'  This  book  belongs  to  Madeleine,"  he  cried. 

Mr.  Verduret  did  not  reply,  but  walked  toward  a  young 
man  dressed  like  a  brewer,  who  had  just  entered  the  room. 

He  glanced  at  the  note  which  this  person  handed  to  him, 
and  hastened  back  to  the  table,  and  said,  in  an  agitated  tone: 

"  I  think  we  have  got  them  now!" 

Throwing  a  five-franc  piece  on  the  table,  and  without  saying 
a  word  to  Cavaillon,  he  seized  Prosper's  arm,  and  hurried  from 
the  room. 

"  What  a  fatality!"  he  said,  as  he  hastened  along  the  street: 
"  we  may  miss  them.  We  shall  certainly  reach  the  St.  Lazare 
Station  too  late  for  the  St.  Germain  train." 

"  For  Heaven's  sake,  where  are  you  going?"  asked  Prosper. 

*'  Never  mind,  we  can  talk  after  we  start.     Hurry!" 

Reaching  Palais  Royal  Place,  M.  Verduret  stopped  before 
one  of  the  hacks  belonging  to  the  railway  station,  »nd  ex- 
amined the  horses  at  a  glance. 

"  How  much  for  driving  us  to  Vesinet?"  he  asked  of  the 
driver. 

*'  I  don't  know  the  read  very  well  that  way." 

The  name  of  Vesinet  was  enough  for  Prosper. 

"  I  will  point  out  the  road,"  he  interrupted,  quickly. 

*'  Well,  said  the  driver,  "at  this  time  of  night,  in  such 
dreadful  weather,  it  ought  to  be — twenty-five  francs." 

"  And  how  much  more  for  driving  very  rapidly?" 

"Bless  my  soul!  Why,  monsieur,  I  leave  that  to  your 
generosity;  but  if  you  put  it  at  tUirty-five  francs--" 


PILE    NO.    113.  lid 

**  Yon  shall  have  a  hundred/'  interrupted  M.  Verduret,  *'  if 
you  overtake  a  carriage  which  has  half  an  hour's  start  of  us/' 

"  Tonnerre  de  Brest!"  cried  the  delighted  driver;  "  jump 
ra  quick,  we  are  losing  time!" 

And,  whipping  up  his  lean  horses,  he  galloped  them  down 
the  Eue  de  Valois  at  lightning  speed. 


CHAPTER  X. 

Lhaving  the  little  station  of  Vesinet,  we  come  upon  two 
roads.  One,  to  the  left,  macadamized  and  kept  in  perfect  re- 
pair, leads  to  the  village,  of  which  there  are  glimpses  here  and 
there  through  the  trees.  The  other,  newly  laid  out,  and  just 
covered  with  gravel,  leads  through  the  woods. 

Along  the  latter,  which  before  the  lapse  of  five  years  will  be 
a  busy  street,  are  built  a  few  houses,  hideous  in  design,  and  at 
some  distance  apart;  rural  summer  retreats  of  city  merchants, 
but  unoccupied  during  the  winter. 

It  was  at  the  junction  of  these  two  roads  that  Prosper 
stopped  the  hack. 

The  driver  had  gained  his  hundred  francs.  The  horses  were 
completely  worn  out,  but  they  had  accomplished  all  that  was 
expected  of  them;  M.  Verduret  could  distinguish  the  lamps  of 
a  hack  similar  to  the  one  he  occupied,  about  fifty  yards  ahead 
of  him. 

M.  Verduret  jumped  out,  and^  handing  the  driver  a  bank- 
note, said: 

*'  Here  is  what  I  promised  you.  Go  to  the  first  tavern  you 
find  on  the  right-hand  side  of  the  road  as  you  enter  the  village. 
If  we  do  not  meet  you  there  in  an  hour,  you  are  at  liberty  to 
return  to  Paris. " 

The  driver  was  overwhelming  in  his  thanks;  but  neither 
Prosper  nor  his  friend  heard  them.  They  had  already  started 
up  the  new  road. 

The  weather,  which  had  been  inclement  when  they  set  out, 
was  now  fearful.  The  rain  fell  in  torrents,  and  a  furious  wind 
howled  dismally  through  the  dense  woods. 

The  intense  darkness  was  rendered  more  dreary  by  the  occa- 
sional glimmer  of  the  lamps  at  the  distant  station,  whict 
seemed  about  to  be  extinguished  by  every  new  gust  of  wind. 

M.  Verduret  and  Prosper  had  been  running  along  ihe  muddy 
road  for  about  five  minutes,  when  suddenly  the  latter  stopper 
Knd  said: 

"  This  is  Eaoul's  house. " 


120  FILE    NO.    113. 

Before  the  gate  of  an  isolated  house  stood  the  hack  whicli 
M.  Verduret  had  followed.  Keclining  on  his  seat,  wrapped  in 
a  thick  cloak,  was  the  driver,  who,  in  spite  of  the  pouring  rain, 
was  already  asleep,  evidently  waiting  for  the  person  whom  he 
'lad  brought  to  this  house  a  few  minutes  ago. 

M.  Verduret  pulled  his  cloak,  and  said,  in  a  low  voice: 

"  Wake  up,  my  good  man.*' 

The  driver  started,  and,  mechanically  gathering  his  reins, 
yawned  out: 

"  I  am  ready:  come  on!" 

But  when,  by  the  light  of  the  carriage  lamps,  he  saw  two 
men  in  this  lonely  spot,  he  imagined  that  they  wanted  his 
purse,  and  perhaps  his  life. 

"  I  am  engaged!*'  he  cried  out,  as  he  cracked  his  whip  in 
the  air;  "  I  am  waiting  here  for  some  one.*' 

*'  I  know  that,  you  fool,"  replied  M.  Verduret,  *'  and  only 
wish  to  ask  you  a  question,  which  you  can  gain  five  francs  by 
answering.     Did  you  not  bring  a  middle-aged  lady  here?" 

This  question,  this  promise  of  five  francs,  instead  of  re- 
assuring the  coachman,  increased  his  alarm. 

*'  I  have  already  told  you  I  am  waiting  for  some  one,"  he 
said,  '*  and,  if  you  don't  go  away  and  leave  me  alone,  I  wiU 
call  for  help." 

M.  Verduret  drew  back  quickly. 

"  Gome  away,"  he  whispered  to  Prosper,  "  the  cur  will  do 
as  he  says;  and,  the  alarm  once  given,  farewell  to  our  projects. 
We  must  find  some  other  entrance  than  by  this  gate. " 

Then  they  went  along  the  wall  surrounding  the  garden,  in 
search  of  a  place  where  it  was  possible  to  climb  up. 

This  was  difficult  to  discover,  the  wall  being  twelve  feet 
high,  and  the  night  very  dark.  Fortunately,  M.  Verduret  was 
very  agile;  and,  having  decided  upon  tlie  spot  to  be  scaled,  he 
drew  back  a  few  feet,  and  making  a  sudden  spring,  seized  one 
of  the  projecting  stones  above  him,  and  drawing  himself  up  by 
aid  of  his  hands  and  feet,  soon  found  himself  on  the  top  of  the 
wall. 

It  was  now  Prosper's  turn  to  climb  up;  but,  though  much 
younger  than  his  companion,  he  had  not  his  agility  and 
strength,  and  would  never  have  succeeded  if  M.  Verduret  had 
not  pulled  him  up,  and  then  helped  him  down  on  the  other 
side. 

Once  in  the  garden,  M.  Verduret  looked  about  him  to  studj 
the  situation. 

The  house  occupied  by  M.  de  Lagors  was  built  in  the  middle 


FILE    KO.    113.  121 

of  an  immense  garden.  It  was  narrow,  two  stories  kigh,  and 
with  garrets. 

Only  one  window,  in  the  second  story,  was  lighted. 

"  As  you  have  often  been  here,''  said  M.  Verduret,  "  you 
must  know  all  about  the  arrangement  of  the  house;  what  room 
is  that  where  we  see  the  light?'* 

"  That  is  Eaoul's  bed-chamber." 

"  Very  good.     What  rooms  are  on  the  first  floor?'* 

*' The  kitchen,  pantry,  billiard-room,  and  dining-room." 

*'  And  on  the  floor  above?" 

"  Two  drawing-rooms,  separated  by  folding  doors,  and  a 
library." 

"  Where  do  the  servants  sleep?" 

'*  Eaoul  has  none  at  present.  He  is  waited  on  by  a  man 
and  his  wife,  who  live  at  Vesinet;  they  come  in  the  morning, 
and  leave  after  dinner. " 

M.  Verduret  rubbed  his  hands  gleefully. 

"  That  suits  our  plans  exactly,"  he  said;  "  there  is  nothing 
to  prevent  our  hearing  what  Eaoul  has  to  say  to  this  person 
who  has  come  from  Paris  at  ten  o'clock  at  night,  to  see  him. 
Let  us  go  in." 

Prosper  seemed  averse  to  this,  and  said : 

"  It  is  a  serious  thing  for  us  to  do,  monsieur." 

"  Bless  my  soul!  what  else  did  we  come  here  for?  Did  you 
think  it  was  a  pleasure  trip,  merely  to  enjoy  this  lovely 
weather?"  he  said,  in  a  bantering  tone. 

*'  But  we  might  be  discovered." 

"  Suppose  we  are?  If  the  least  noise  betrays  our  presence, 
you  have  only  to  advance  boldly  as  a  friend  come  to  visit  a 
friend,  and,  finding  the  door  open,  walk  in." 

But  unfortunately  the  heavy  oak  door  was  locked.  M.  Ver- 
duret shook  it  in  vain. 

"  How  foolish!"  he  said,  with  vexation,  "I  ought  to  have 
brought  my  instruments  with  me.  A  common  lock  which 
could  be  opened  with  a  nail,  and  I  have  not  even  a  piece  of 
wire!" 

Thinking  it  useless  to  attempt  the  door,  he  tried  successively 
every  window  on  the  ground-floor.  Alas!  each  blind  was 
securely  fastened  on  the  inrfide. 

M.  Verduret  was  provoked.  He  prowled  around  the  house 
like  a  fox  around  a  hen-coop,  seeking  aa  entrance.  Despair*, 
ingly  he  came  back  to  the  spot  in  front  of  the  house,  whence 
he  had  the  best  view  of  the  lighted  window. 

"  If  I  could  only  look  in,"  he  cried.  "  Just  to  think  that 
la  there,"  aad  he  poiuli'^to-  ^hn  laiudow^  *'  is  the  solution  o£ 


122  FILE    NO.    113. 

the  mystery;  and  we  are  cut  off  from  it  by  thirty  or  forty  fee* 
of  cursed  blank  wall!*' 

Prosper  was  more  surprised  than  ever  at  his  companion's 
strange  behavior.  He  seemed  perfectly  at  home  in  this  gar- 
den; he  ran  about  without  any  precaution;  so  that  one  would 
have  supposed  him  accustomed  to  such  expeditions,  especially 
when  he  spoke  of  picking  the  lock  of  an  occupied  house,  as  if 
he  were  talking  of  opening  a  snuff-box.  He  was  utterly  in- 
different to  the  rain  and  sleet  driven  in  his  face  by  the  gusts  of 
wind  as  he  splashed  about  in  the  mud,  trying  to  find  some  way 
of  entrance. 

"  I  must  get  a  peep  into  that  window,"  he  said,  "  and  I 
will,  cost  what  it  may!'' 

Prosper  seemed  to  suddenly  remember  something. 

*'  There  is  a  ladder  here,"  he  cried. 

**  Why  did  you  not  tell  me  that  before?    Where  is  it?" 

**  At  the  end  of  the  garden,  under  the  trees." 

They  ran  to  the  spot,  and  in  a  few  minutes  had  the  ladder 
standing  against  the  wall. 

But  to  their  chagrin  they  found  the  ladder  six  feet  tob 
short.  Six  long  feet  of  wall  between  the  top  of  the  ladder  and 
the  lighted  window  was  a  very  discouraging  sight  to  Prospen 
he  exclaimed : 

"We  can  not  reach  it." 

"  We  can  reach  it,"  cried  M.  Verduret,  triumphantly. 

And  he  quickly  placed  himself  a  yard  off  from  the  house, 
and  seizing  the  ladder,  cautiously  raised  it,  and  rested  the  bot- 
tom round  on  his  shoulders,  at  the  same  time  holding  the  two 
uprights  firmly  and  steadily  with  his  hands.  The  obstacle  was 
overcome. 

*'  Now  mount,"  he  said  to  his  companion. 

Prosper  did  not  hesitate.  The  enthusiasm  of  diflBculties  so 
skillfully  conquered,  and  the  hope  of  triumph,  gave  him  a 
strength  and  agility  which  he  had  never  imagined  he  possessed. 
He  made  a  sudden  spring,  and  seizing  the  lower  rounds,  quick- 
ly climbed  up  the  ladder,  which  swayed  and  trembled  beneath 
his  weight. 

But  he  had  scarcely  looked  in  the  lighted  window  when  he 
uttered  a  cry  which  was  drowned  in  the  roaring  tempest,  and 
dropped  like  a  log  down  on  the  wet  grass,  exclaiming: 

♦'  The  villain!  the  villain!" 

With  wonderful  promptness  and  vigor,  M.  Verduret  laid  the 
ladder  on  the  ground,  and  ran  toward  Prosper,  fearing  he  waa 
dead  or  dangerously  injured. 

"  What  did  you  see?    Are  you  hurt?"  he  whispered. 


WLE    NO.    113.  1!83 

Bat  Prosper  had  already  risen.  Althonghhe  had  had  a  vio 
feat  fall,  he  was  unhurt;  he  was  in  a  state  when  mind  govern! 
matter  so  absolutely  that  the  body  ia  insensible  to  pain. 

"  I  saw/'  he  answered,  in  a  hoarse  voice,  "  I  saw  Madeleine 
— do  you  understand,  Madeleine — in  that  room,  alone  with 
Eaoul." 

M.  Verduret  was  confounded.  Was  it  possible  that  he,  the 
infallible  expert,  had  been  mistaken  in  his  deductions? 

He  well  knew  that  M.  de  Lagors's  visitor  was  a  woman;  but 
his  own  conjectures  and  the  note  which  Mme.  Gipsy  had  sent 
to  him  at  the  tavern,  had  fully  assured  him  that  this  woman 
was  Mme.  Fauvel. 

"  You  must  be  mistaken,'*  he  said  to  Prosper. 

*'  No,  monsieur,  no.  Never  could  I  mistake  another  for 
Madeleine.  Ah!  you  who  heard  what  she  said  to  me  yester- 
day, answer  me;  was  I  to  expect  such  infamous  treason  as 
this?  You  said  to  me  then,  '  She  loves  you,  she  loves  you!* 
Now  do  you  think  she  loves  me?     Speak. 

M.  Verduret  did  not  answer.  He  had  first  been  stupefied  by 
his  mistake,  and  was  now  racking  his  brain  to  discover  the 
cause  of  it,  which  was  soon  discerned  by  his  penetrating  mind. 

"  This  is  the  secret  discovered  by  Nina,''  continued  Prosper. 
*'  Madeleine,  this  pure  and  noble  Madeleine,  whom  I  be- 
lieved to  be  as  immaculate  as  an  angel,  is  in  love  with  this 
thief,  who  has  even  stolen  the  name  he  bears;  and  I,  trusting 
fool  that  I  was,  made  this  scoundrel  my  best  friend.  I  con- 
fided to  him  all  my  hopes  and  fears;  and  he  was  her  lover!  Of 
course  they  amused  themselves  by  ridiculing  my  silly  devotion 
and  blind  confidence!'* 

He  stopped,  overcome  by  his  violent  emotions.  Wounded 
vanity  is  the  worst  of  miseries.  The  certainty  of  having  been 
so  shamefully  deceived  and  betrayed  made  Prosper  almost  in- 
sane with  rage.  \ 

"  This  is  the  last  humiliation  I  shall  submit  to,"  he  fiercely 
cried.  "  It  shall  not  be  said  that  I  was  coward  enough  to  stand 
by  and  let  an  insult  like  this  go  unpunished." 

He  started  toward  the  house;  out  M.  Verduret  seized  his 
arm  and  said: 

*'  What  are  you  going  to  do?" 

"  Have  my  revenge!  I  will  break  down  the  door;  what  do 
I  care  for  the  noise  and  scandal,  now  that  I  have  nothing  to 
lose?  I  shall  not  attempt  to  creep  into  the  house  like  a  thief, 
but  as  a  master,  as  one  who  has  a  right  to  enter,  as  a  man  who, 
Having  received  an  insult  which  can  only  be  washed  out  witk 
blood  cornea  to  demand  satiafactiou* 


124  ITILE  KO.   lia. 

"  ?"ou  will  do  nothing  of  the  sort.  Prosper."* 

**  Who  will  prevent  me?*' 

"I  will." 

"  You?  Do  not  hope  that  you  will  be  able  to  deter  me.  ) 
mil  appear  before  them,  put  them  to  the  blush,  kill  them 
both,  then  put  an  end  to  my  own  wretched  existence.  That 
is  what  I  intend  to  do,  and  nothing  shall  stop  me!'* 

If  M.  Verduret  had  not  held  Prosper  with  a  vise-like  grip, 
he  would  have  escaped,  and  carried  out  his  threat. 

**  If  you  make  any  noise.  Prosper,  or  raise  an  alarm,  a]] 
yoar  hopes  are  ruined.'' 

*'  I  have  no  hopes  now." 

"  Eaoul,  put  on  his  guard,  will  escape  us,  and  you  will  re- 
main dishonored  forever. " 

"  What  difference  is  it  to  me?" 

"  It  makes  a  great  difference  to  me.  I  hftve  sworn  to  prove 
your  innocence.  A  man  of  your  age  can  easily  find  a  wife, 
out  can  never  restore  luster  to  a  tarnished  name.  Let  nothing 
interfere  with  the  establishing  of  your  innocence." 

Genuine  passion  is  uninfluenced  by  surrounding  circum- 
•tances.  M.  Verduret  and  Prosper  stood  foot-deep  in  mud, 
wet  to  the  skin,  the  rain  pouring  down  on  their  heads,  and 
yet  seemed  in  no  hurry  to  end  their  dispute. 

*'  I  will  be  avenged,"  repeated  Prosper,  with  the  persistency 
of  a  fixed  idea;  "  I  will  avenge  niyself.  '* 

"  Well,  avenge  yourself  like  a  man,  and  not  like  a  child!" 
eaid  M.  Verduret,  angrily. 

**  Monsieur!" 

"  Yes,  I  repeat  it,  like  a  child.  TVliat  will  you  do  after  yon 
get  into  the  house?  Have  you  any  arms?  No!  You  rush 
upon  Raoul,  and  a  struggle  ensues;  while  you  two  are  fighting, 
Madeleine  jumps  in  her  carriage,  and  drives  off.  What  then? 
Which  is  the  stronger,  you  or  Eaoul?" 

Overcome  by  the  sense  of  his  powerlessness.  Prosper  was 
silent. 

"  And  arms  would  be  of  no  use,"  continued  M.  Verduret; 
**  it  is  fortunate  you  have  none  with  you,  for  it  would  be  very 
foolish  to  shoot  a  man  whom  you  can  send  to  the  galleys." 

"What  must  I  do?" 

*'  Wait.  Vengeance  is  a  delicious  fruit,  that  must  ripen  in 
order  that  we  may  fully  enjoy  it." 

Prosper  was  unsettled  in  his  resolution;  M.  Verduret  seeing 
this  brought  forth  his  last  and  strongest  argument. 

"  How  do  we  know,"  he  said,  "  that  Mademoiselle  Made- 
leine is  here  on  her  own  account?    Did  we  not  come  to  tbj 


PILE  NO.   113.  l!8d 

condusion  that  she  was  sacrificing  herself  for  the  benefit  of 
Bome  one  else?  That  superior  will  which  compelled  her  to 
banish  you  may  have  constrained  this  step  to-night. " 

That  which  coincides  with  our  secret  wishes  is  always  eager* 
fy  welcomed.  This  supposition,  apparently  improbable,  struck 
prosper  as  possibly  true. 

"  That  might  be  the  case/'  he  murmured,  **  who  knows?'' 

"  I  would  soon  know,"  said  M.  Verduret,  "if  I  could  see 
them  together  in  that  room. " 

"  Will  you  promise  me,  monsieur,  to  tell  me  the  exact 
truth,  all  that  you  see  and  hear,  no  matter  how  painful  it  may 
be  for  me  I" 

"  I  swear  it,  upon  my  word  of  honor." 

Then,  with  a  strength  of  which  a  few  minutes  before  he 
would  not  have  believed  himself  possessed,  Prosper  raised  the 
ladder,  and  placed  the  last  round  on  his  shoulder,  and  said  to 
M.  Verduret: 

"Mount!" 

M.  Verduret  rapidly  ascended  the  ladder  without  even  shak- 
ing it,  and  had  his  head  on  a  level  with  the  window. 

Prosper  had  seen  but  too  well.  There  was  Madeleine  at 
this  hour  of  the  night,  alone  with  Kaoul  de  Lagors  in  hia 
room! 

M.  Verduret  oleerved  that  she  still  wore  her  shawl  and 
bonnet. 

She  was  standing  in  the  middle  of  the  room,  talking  with 
great  animation.  Her  look  and  gestures  betrayed  indignant 
scorn.  There  was  an  expression  of  ill-disguised  loathing  upon 
her  beautiful  face. 

Eaoul  was  seated  by  the  fire,  stirring  np  the  coals  with  a 
pair  of  tongs.  Every  now  and  then  he  would  shrug  his  shoul- 
ders, like  a  man  resigned  to  everything  he  heard,  and  had  no 
answer,  except,  "  I  can  not  help  it.  I  can  do  nothing  foi 
you.'* 

M.  Verduret  would  willingly  have  given  the  diamond  ring 
on  his  finger  to  be  able  to  hear  what  was  said;  but  the  roaring 
wind  completely  drowned  their  voices. 

"  They  are  evidently  quarreling,"  he  thoughtj  "  but  it  is 
not  a  lover's  quarrel." 

Madeleine  continued  talking;  and  it  was  by  closely  watching 
the  face  of  Lagors,  clearly  revealed  by  the  lamp  on  the  man- 
tel, that  M.  Verduret  hoped  to  discover  the  meaning  of  the 
•cene  before  him. 

At  one  moment  Lagors  would  start  and  tremble  in  spite  of 
his  apparent  indifference;  the  next,  ho  would  strike  at  the  fir« 


x26  tiL«  iro.  113. 

with  the  tongs,  as  if  giving  vent  to  his  rage  at  some  rcproart 
uttered  by  Madeleine. 

Finally  Madeleine  changed  her  threats  into  entreaties,  and, 
rrasping  her  hands,  almost  fell  at  his  knees. 

He  turned  away  his  head,  and  refused  to  answer  save  la 
monosyllables. 

Several  times  she  turned  to  leave  the  room,  but  each  time 
returned,  as  if  asking  a  favor,  and  unable  to  make  up  hei 
mind  to  leave  the  house  till  she  had  obtained  it. 

At  last  she  seemed  to  have  uttered  something  decisive;  for 
Raoul  quickly  rose  and  opened  a  desk  near  the  fire-place,  frooi 
which  he  took  a  bundle  of  papers,  and  handed  them  to  her. 

"  Well,''  thought  M.  Verduret,  "  this  looks  bad.  Can  it 
be  a  compromising  correspondence  which  the  fair  one  wants  to 
securer'' 

Maddeine  took  the  papers,  but  was  apparently  still  dissaLa- 
fied.  She  again  entreated  him  to  give  her  something  else. 
Raoul  refused;  and  then  she  threw  the  papers  on  the  table. 

The  papers  seemed  to  puzzle  M.  Verduret  very  much,  as  he 
gazed  at  them  through  the  window. 

"  I  am  not  blind,"  he  said,  "  and  I  certainly  am  not  mis- 
taken; those  papers,  red,  green,  and  yellow,  are  pawnbrokers* 
tickets." 

Madeleine  turned  over  the  papers,  as  if  looking  for  some 
particular  ones.  She  selected  three,  which  she  put  in  her 
pocket,  disdainfully  pushing  the  others  aside. 

She  was  evidently  preparing  to  take  her  departure,  for  she 
said  a  few  words  to  Raoul,  who  took  up  the  lamp  as  if  to  es- 
cort her  down-stairs. 

There  was  nothing  more  for  M.  Verduret  to  see.  He  care- 
fully descended  the  ladder,  muttering  to  himself:  "  Pawn- 
brokers* ticketsi  What  infamous  mystery  lies  at  the  bottom 
cf  all  this?" 

The  first  thing  he  did  was  to  remove  the  ladder. 

Raoul  might  take  it  into  his  head  to  look  around  the  garden 
when  he  came  to  the  door  with  Madeleine,  and  if  he  did  so  the 
ladder  could  scarcely  fail  to  attract  his  attention. 

M.  Verduret  and  Prosper  hastily  laid  it  on  the  ground,  re- 
gardless of  the  shrubs  and  vines  they  destroyed  in  doing  so, 
and  then  concealed  themselves  among  the  trees,  whence  they 
could  watch  at  once  the  front  door  and  the  outer  gate. 

Madeleine  and  Raoul  appeared  in  the  door-way.  Raoul  set 
the  lamp  oa  the  bottom  step,  and  ofl'ered  his  hand  to  the  girl; 
but  she  refused  it  with  haughty  contempt,  which  souiewhAt 
toothed  Prosper 's  lacerated  heaji^ 


FILE    KO.    113.  137 

This  scornful  behavior  did  not,  however,  seem  to  surprise  or 
hurt  Raoul.  He  simply  answered  by  an  ironical  gesture 
which  implied,  "  As  you  please!" 

He  followed  her  to  the  gate,  which  he  opened  and  closed 
after  her;  then  he  hurried  back  to  the  house,  while  Made- 
leine's carriage  drove  rapidly  away. 

**  Now,  monsieur,"  said  Prosper,  "  you  must  tell  me  what 
you  saw.  You  promised  me  the  truth  no  matter  how  bitter 
it  might  be.     Speak;  I  can  bear  it,  be  it  what  it  mav." 

"  You  will  only  have  joy  to  bear,  my  friend.  Within  a 
month  you  will  bitterly  regret  your  suspicions  of  to-night. 
You  will  blush  to  think  that  you  ever  imagined  Mademoiselle 
Madeleine  to  be  intimate  with  a  man  like  Lagors." 

"  But,  monsieur,  appearances — " 

"  It  is  precisely  against  appearances  that  we  must  be  on  our 
guard.  Always  distrust  them.  A  suspicion,  false  or  just,  is 
always  based  on  something.  But  we  must  not  stay  here  for- 
ever; and,  as  Eaoul  has  fastened  the  gate,  we  shall  have  to 
climb  back  again." 

**  But  there  is  the  ladder." 

*'  Let  it  stay  where  it  is;  as  we  can  not  efface  our  foot- 

Erints,  he  will  think  thieves  have  been  trying  to  get  into  the 
ouse." 

They  scaled  the  wall,  and  had  not  walked  fifty  steps  when 
they  heard  the  noise  of  a  gate  being  unlocked.  They  stood 
aside  and  waited;  a  man  soon  passed  by  on  his  way  to  the 
station. 

"  That  is  Raoul,"  said  M.  Verduret,  *'  and  Joseph  will  re- 
port to  us  that  he  has  gone  to  tell  Clameran  what  has  just 
taken  place.    If  they  are  only  kind  enough  to  speak  French!" 

He  walked  along  quietly  for  some  time,  trying  to  connect 
the  broken  chain  of  his  deductions. 

"  How  in  the  deuce,"  he  abruptly  asked,  "  did  this  Lagors, 
who  is  devoted  to  gay  society,  come  to  choose  a  lonely  country 
house  to  live  in?" 

*'  I  suppose  it  was  because  Monsieur  Fauvel's  villa  is  only 
fifteen  minutes'  ride  from  here,  on  the  Seine." 

*'  That  accounts  for  his  staying  here  in  the  summer;  but  in 
winter?" 

"  Oh!  in  winter  he  has  a  room  at  the  Hotel  de  Louvre,  and 
all  the  year  round  keeps  an  apartment  in  Paris." 

This  did  not  enlighten  M.  Verduret  much;  he  hurried  his 
pace. 

"  I  hope  our  driver  has  not  gone.    We  can  not  take  the  train 


128  FILE   NO.    118. 

which  is  abont  to  start,  because  Haoul  vonld  see  as  at  the 

Btal.ion." 

Although  it  was  more  thrtJi  an  honr  since  M.  Verduret  and 
Prosper  left  the  hack  at  the  branch  road,  they  foaud  it  wait- 
ing for  them  in  front  of  the  tavern. 

The  driver  could  not  resist  the  desire  to  change  his  five* 
franc  piece;  he  had  ordered  dinner,  and,  finding  the  wine  very 
good,  was  calling  for  more,  when  he  looked  up  and  saw  his 
employers. 

Well,  you  are  in  a  strange  state  1"  he  exclaimed. 

Prosper  replied  that  they  hail  gone  to  see  a  friend,  and,  los- 
ing their  way,  had  fallen  into  a  pit;  as  if  there  were  pits  in 
Vesinet  forests. 

"  Ah,  that  is  the  way  you  got  covered  with  mud,  is  it?"  ex- 
claimed the  driver,  who,  though  apparently  contented  with 
this  explanation,  strongly  suspected  that  his  two  customers  had 
been  engaged  in  some  nefarious  transaction. 

This  opinion  seemed  to  be  entertained  by  every  one  present, 
for  they  looked  at  Prosper's  muddy  clothes  and  then  at  each 
other,  in  a  knowing  way. 

But  M.  Verduret  stopped  all  comment  by  saying: 

*'  Come  on!" 

**  All  right,  monsieur:  get  in  while  I  settle  my  bill;  I  will 
be  there  in  a  minute.** 

The  drive  back  was  silent,  and  seemed  interminably  long. 
I  vesper  at  first  tried  to  draw  his  strange  companion  into  con- 
versation; but,  as  he  received  nothing  but  "monosyllables  in 
reply,  held  his  peace  for  the  rest  of  the  journey.  He  was 
a^ain  beginning  to  feel  irritated  at  the  absolute  empire  exer- 
cised over  him  by  this  man. 

Physical  discomfort  was  added  to  his  other  troubles.  He 
was  stiff  and  numb;  every  bone  in  him  ached  with  the  cold. 

Although  mental  endurance  may  be  unlimited,  bodily 
strength  must  in  the  end  give  way.  A  violent  effort  is  always 
followed  by  reaction. 

Lying  back  in  a  comer  of  the  carriage,  with  his  feet  upon 
the  front  seat,  M.  Verduret  seemed  to  be  enjoying  a  nap;  yet 
he  was  never  more  wide  awake. 

He  was  in  a  perplexed  state  of  mind.  This  expedition, 
which,  he  had  been  confident,  would  resolve  all  his  doubts, 
had  only  added  mystery  to  the  mystery.  His  chain  of  evi- 
Jence,  which  he  thought  so  strongly  Unked,  was  oonipletelf 
broken. 

For  him  the  facts  remained  the  same,  but  circnmstances  had 
changed.    He  could  not  im»iane  what  common  motive,  whui 


FILE    KO.    113.  129 

moral  or  material  complicity,  what  influences,  could  have  ex- 
isted to  make  the  four  actors  in  his  drama.  Mme.  E'auvel, 
Madeleine,  Eaoul,  and  Glameran,  seemed  to  have  the  same 
object  in  view. 

He  was  seeking  in  his  fertile  mind,  that  encyclopasdia  of  craft 
and  subtlety,  for  some  combination  which  would  throw  light 
on  the  problem  before  him. 

The  midnight  bells  were  ringing  when  they  reached  the 
Archangel,  and  for  the  first  time  M.  Verduret  remembered 
that  he  had  not  dined. 

Fortunately  Mme.  Alexandre  was  still  up,  and  in  the 
twinkling  of  an  eye  had  improvised  a  tempting  supper.  It  was 
more  than  attention,  more  than  respect,  that  she  showed  her 
guest.  Prosper  observed  that  she  gazed  admiringly  at  M. 
Verduret  all  the  while  he  was  eating  his  supper. 

"You  will  not  see  me  to-morrow,''  said  M.  Verduret  to 
Prosper,  when  he  had  risen  to  leave  the  room;  "  but  I  will  be 
here  about  this  time  to-morrow  night.  Pei'haps  I  shall  discover 
what  I  am  seeking  at  Messieurs  Jandidier's  ball." 

Prosper  was  dumb  with  astonishment.  What!  would  M. 
Verduret  think  of  appearing  at  a  ball  given  by  the  wealthiest 
and  most  fashionable  bankers  in  Paris?  This  accounted  for 
his  sending  to  the  costumer. 

"  Then  you  are  invited  to  this  ball?" 

The  expressive  eyes  of  M.  Verduret  danced  with  amusement. 

"  Not  yet,"  he  said,  "  but  I  shall  be." 

Oh,  the  inconsistency  of  the  human  mind!  Prosper  was 
tormented  by  the  most  serious  preoccupations.  He  looked 
sadly  around  his  chamber,  and,  as  he  thought  of  M.  Verduret's 
projected  pleasure  at  the  ball,  exclaimed: 

Ah,  how  fortunate  he  is!    To-morrow  he  will  have  the 
privilege  of  seeing  Madeleine.'* 


CHAPTER  XL 

The  Rue  St.  Lazare  was  adorned  by  the  palatial  residences 
of  the  Jandidier  brothers,  two  celebrated  financiers,  who,  if 
deprived  of  the  prestige  of  immense  wealth,  would  still  be 
looked  up  to  as  remarkable  men.  Why  can  not  the  same  be 
said  of  all  men? 

These  two  mansions,  which  were  thought  marvels  at  the 
time  they  were  built,  were  entirely  distinct  from  each  other, 
but  so  planned  thai  they  could  be  turned  into  one  immense 
house  when  so  desired.     When  MM.  Jandidier  gave  parties, 


130  PILE    NO.    113. 

they  always  had  the  movable  partitions  taken  away,  and  thru 
obtained  the  most  superb  salon  in  Paris. 

Princely  magnificence,  lavish  hospitality,  and  an  elegant 
graceful  manner  of  receiving  their  guests,  made  these  enter- 
tainments eagerly  sought  after  by  the  fashionable  circles  of  the 
capital. 

On  Saturday,  the  Eue  St.  Lazare  was  blocked  up  by  a  file 
of  carriages,  whose  fair  occupants  were  impatiently  awaiting 
their  turn  to  drive  up  to  the  door,  through  which  they  could 
catch  the  tantalizing  strains  of  a  waltz. 

It  was  a  fancy  ball;  and  nearly  all  the  costumes  were  su- 
perb, though  some  were  more  original  than  elegant. 

Among  the  latter  was  a  clown.  Everything  was  in  perfect 
keeping;  the  insolent  eye,  coarse  lips,  high  cheek-bones,  and 
a  beard  so  red  that  it  seemed  to  emit  flames  in  the  reflection  of 
the  dazzling  lights. 

He  wore  top-boots,  a  dilapidated  hat  on  the  back  of  his 
head,  and  shirt-ruffle  trimmed  with  torn  lace. 

He  carried  in  his  left  hand  a  canvas  banner,  upon  which  were 
painted  six  or  eight  pictures,  coarsely  designed  like  those  found 
m  strolling  fairs.  In  his  right  he  waved  a  little  switch,  with 
which  he  would  every  now  and  then  strike  his  banner,  like  a 
quack  retailing  his  wares. 

Quite  a  crowd  surrounded  this  clown,  hoping  to  hear  some' 
witty  speeches  and  puns;  but  he  kept  near  the  door,  and  re- 
mained silent. 

About  half  past  ten  he  quitted  his  post. 

M.  and  Mme.  Fauvel,  followed  by  their  niece  Madeleine, 
had  just  entered. 

A  compact  group  immediately  formed  near  the  door.  Dur^ 
ing  the  last  ten  days,  the  affair  of  the  Rue  de  Provence  had 
oeen  the  universal  topic  of  conversation;  and  friends  and  ene- 
mies were  alike  glad  to  seize  this  opportunity  of  approaching 
the  banker,  some  to  tender  their  sympathy,  and  others  to  offer 
equivocal  condolence,  which  of  all  things  is  the  most  exasper- '- 
ating  and  insulting. 

Belonging  to  the  battalion  of  grave,  elderly  men,  M.  Fauvel 
had  not  assumed  a  fancy  costume,  but  merely  threw  over  his 
shoulders  a  short  silk  domino. 

On  his  arm  leaned  Mme.  Fauvel,  nee  Valentine  de  La  Ver- 
berie,  bowing  and  gracefully  greeting  her  numerous  friends. 

She  had  once  been  remarkably  beautiful;  and  to-night  the 
effect  of  the  soft  wax  lights,  and  her  very  becoming  dress,  half 
restored  her  youthful  freshness  and  comeliness.  No  one 
would  have  supposed  her  to  be  forty-eight  years  old. 


PILE  NO.  113.  131 

She  wore  a  dress  of  the  later  years  of  Louis  the  Fourteenth*! 
reign,  magnificeut  and  severe,  of  embroidered  satin  and  black 
Telvet,  without  the  adornment  of  a  single  jewel. 

She  looked  so  graceful  and  elegant  in  this  court  dress  and 
powdered  hair,  that  some  ill-natured  gossips  said  it  was  a  pity 
to  see  a  real  La  Verberie,  so  well  fitted  to  adorn  a  queen^a 
drawing-room,  as  all  her  ancestors  had  done  before  her, 
thrown  away  upon  a  man  whom  she  had  only  married  for  his 
money. 

But  Madeleine  was  the  object  of  universal  admiration,  so 
dazzlingly  beautiful  and  queenly  did  she  appear  in  her  costume 
of  maid  of  honor,  which  seemed  to  have  been  especially  in- 
vented to  set  forth  her  beautiful  figure. 

Her  loveliness  expanded  in  the  perfumed  atmosphere  and 
Boft  light  of  the  ball-room.  Never  had  her  hair  looked  so 
black,  her  complexion  so  exquisite,  or  her  large  eyes  so  brill- 
iant. 

Having  greeted  the  hosts,  Madeleine  took  her  aunt's  arm, 
while  M.  Fn  uvel  wandered  through  the  rooms  in  search  of  the 
card-table,  the  usual  refuge  of  bored  men,  when  they  are  en- 
ticed to  the  ball-room  by  their  womankind. 

The  ball  was  now  at  its  height. 

Two  orchestras,  led  by  Strauss  and  one  of  his  lieutenants, 
filled  the  two  mansions  with  intoxicating  music.  The  motley 
crowd  whirled  in  the  waltz  until  they  presented  a  curious  con- 
fusion of  velvets,  satins,  laces  and  diamonds.  Almost  every 
head  and  bosom  sparkled  with  jewels;  the  palest  cheeks  were 
rosy;  heavy  eyes  now  shone  like  stars;  and  the  glistening 
shoulders  of  fair  women  were  like  drifted  snow  in  an  AprU 
sun. 

Forgotten  by  the  crowd,  the  clown  had  taken  refuge  in  the 
embrasure  of  a  window,  and  seemed  to  be  meditating  upon  the 
gay  scene  before  him;  at  the  same  time,  he  kept  his  eyes  upon 
a  couple  not  far  off. 

It  was  Madeleine,  dancing  with  a  splendidly  dressed  doge. 
The  doge  was  the  Marquis  de  Clameran. 

He  appeared  to  be  radiant,  rejuvenated,  and  well  satisfied 
with  the  impression  he  was  making  upon  his  partner;  at  the 
end  of  a  quadrille  he  leaned  over  her,  and  whispered  compli- 
ments with  the  most  unbounded  admiration;  and  she  seemed 
to  listen,  if  not  with  pleasure,  at  least  without  repugnance. 
She  now  and  then  smiled,  and  coquettishly  shrugged  her 
shoulders. 

"  Evidently,''  muttered  the  clown,  "  this  noble  scoundrel  ia 
paying  court  to  the  banker's  niec«j   so  I  was  right  yesterday. 


133  FILE    NO.    113. 

But  how  can  Mademoiselle  Madeleine  resign  herself  to  so  gra« 
ciouslj  receive  his  insipid  flattery:'  Fortunately,  Prosper  io 
not  here  now.'' 

He  was  interrupted  by  an  elderly  man  wrapped  in  a  Vene- 
tian mantle,  who  said  to  him: 

**  You  remember.  Monsieur  Verduret  " — this  name  was  ut- 
tered half  seriously,  half  banteringly — "  what  you  promised 
me?" 

The  clown  bowed  with  great  respect,  but  not  the  slightest 
diade  of  humility. 

*'  I  remember,'*  he  replied. 
.  "  But  do  not  be  imprudent,  I  beg  of  you." 

"  Monsieur  the  Count  need  not  be  uneasy,  he  has  my  prom- 
ise." 

"  Very  good.     I  know  the  value  of  it. " 

The  count  walked  off;  but  during  this  short  colloquy  the 
quadrille  had  ended,  and  M.  de  Clameran  and  Madeleine  were 
lost  to  sight. 

*'  I  shall  find  them  near  Madame  Fauvel,"  said  the  clown. 

And  he  at  once  started  in  search  of  the  banker's  wife. 

Incommoded  by  the  stifling  heat  of  the  room,  Mme.  Fauvel 
had  sought  a  little  fresh  air  in  tlie  grand  picture-gallery,  which, 
thanks  to  the  talisman  called  gold,  was  now  transformed  into 
a  fairy-like  garden,  filled  with  orange-trees,  japonicas,  laurel, 
and  many  rare  exotics. 

The  clown  saw  her  seated  near  a  grove,  not  far  from  the 
door  of  the  card-room.  Upon  her  right  was  Madeleine,  and 
near  her  stood  Eaoul  de  Lagors,  dressed  in  a  costume  of 
Henri  III. 

"  I  must  confess,"  muttered  the  clown  from  his  post  of  ob- 
servation, *'  that  the  young  scamp  is  a  very  handsome  man." 

Madeleine  appeared  very  sad.  She  had  plucked  a  japonica 
from  a  tree  near  by,  and  was  mechanically  pulling  it  to  pieces 
as  she  sat  with  her  eyes  downcast. 

Eaoul  and  Mme.  Fauvel  were  engaged  in  earnest  conversa- 
tion. Their  faces  were  composed,  but  the  gestures  of  one  and 
the  trembling  of  the  other  betrayed  a  serious  discussion. 

In  the  card-room  sat  the  doge,  M.  de  Clameran,  so  placed 
as  to  have  full  view  of  Mme.  Fauvel  and  Madeleine,  although 
himself  concealed  by  an  angle  of  the  room. 

**  It  is  the  continuation  of  yesterday's  scene."  thought  the 
clown.  "  If  I  could  only  get  behind  that  oleander-tree,  I 
might  hear  what  they  are  saying." 

He  pushed  his  way  through  the  crowd,  and,  just  as  he  had 


FILE    2S-0.    113.  133 

reached  the  desired  spot,  Madeleine  arose,  and,  taking  the 
arm  of  a  bejeweled  Persian,  walked  away. 

At  the  same  moment  Eaoul  went  into  the  card-room  and 
whispered  a  few  words  to  De  Clameran. 

"  There  they  go,'^  muttered  the  clown.  "  The  two  scoun- 
drels certainly  hold  these  poor  women  in  their  power;  and  they 
are  determined  to  make  them  sufFer  before  releasing  them. 
What  can  be  the  secret  of  their  power?'' 

His  attention  was  attracted  by  a  commotion  in  the  picture- 
gallery;  it  was  caused  by  the  announc«ment  of  a  wonderful 
minuet  to  be  danced  in  the  ball-room;  the  arrival  of  the 
Countess  de  Commarin  as  Aurora;  and  the  presence  of  the 
Princess  Korasoil,  with  her  superb  emeralds,  which  were  re- 
ported to  be  the  finest  in  the  world. 

In  an  instant  the  gallery  became  almost  deserted.  Only  a 
few  forlorn-looking  people  remained;  mostly  sulky  husbands 
whose  wives  were  dancing  with  other  women's  husbands,  and 
some  melancholyyouths  looking  awkward  and  unhappy  in  their 
gay  fancy  dresses. 

The  clown  thought  it  a  favorable  opportunity  for  carrying 
out  his  project. 

He  abruptly  left  his  corner,  flourishing  his  switch,  and  beat- 
ing his  banner,  and,  crossing  the  gallery,  seated  himself  in  a 
chair  between  Mme.  Fauvel  and  the  door.  As  soon  as  the 
people  had  collected  in  a  circle  around  him,  he  commenced  to 
cough  in  an  affected  manner,  like  a  stump  orator  about  to 
make  a  speech. 

Then  he  struck  a  comical  attitude,  standing  up  with  his 
body  twisted  sideways,  and  his  hat  on  one  ear,  and  with  great 
buffoonery  and  volubility  made  the  following  remarks: 

*'  Ladies  and  gentlemen,  this  very  morning  1  obtained  a 
license  from  the  authorities  of  this  town.  And  what  for? 
Why,  gentlemen,  for  the  purpose  of  exhibiting  to  you  a  spec- 
tacle which  lias  already  won  the  admiration  of  the  four  quar-. 
ters  of  the  globe,  and  several  universities  besides.  Inside  of 
this  booth,  ladies,  is  about  to  commence  the  representation  of 
a  most  remarkable  drama,  acted  for  the  first  time  in  Pekin, 
and  translated  into  several  languages  by  our  most  celebrated 
authors.  Gentlemen,  you  can  take  your  seats;  the  lamps  are 
lighted,  and  the  actors  are  changing  their  dress. " 

Here  he  stopped  speaking,  and  imitated  to  perfection  the 
feats  which  mountebanks  play  upon  horns  and  kettle-drums. 

"  Now,  ladies  and  gentlemen,"  he  resumed,  "  you  wish  to 
know  what  I  am  doing  outside,  if  the  piece  is  to  be  performed 
under  the  tent.     The  fact  is,  gentlemen,  that  I  wish  to  give 


134  FILE    NO.    113. 

you  a  foretaste  of  the  agitations,  sensations,  emotions,  palpita* 
tions,  and  other  entertainments  which  you  may  enjoy  by  pay- 
ing the  small  sum  of  ten  sous.  You  see  this  superb  picture? 
It  represents  eight  of  the  most  thrilling  scenes  in  the  dram«. 
Ah,  1  see  you  begin  to  shudder  already;  and  yet  this  is  noth- 
ing compared  to  the  play  itself.  This  splendid  picture  gives 
you  no  more  idea  of  the  acting  than  a  drop  of  water  gives  an 
idea  of  the  sea,  or  a  spark  of  fire  of  the  sun.  My  picture, 
gentlemen,  is  merely  to  give  you  a  foretaste  of  what  is  in  the 
tent:  as  the  steam  oomug  from  a  restaurant  gives  you  a  taste, 
or  rather  a  smell,  of  what  is  within. '* 

"  Do  you  know  this  clown ?*'  asked  an  enormous  Turk  of  c 
melancholy  Punch. 

"  No,  but  he  can  imitate  a  trumpet  splendidly. '' 

"  Oh,  very  well  indeed!    But  what  is  he  driving  at?" 

The  clown  was  endeavoring  to  attract  the  attention  of  Mme. 
Fauvel,  who,  since  Eaoul  and  Madeleine  had  left  her,  sat  by 
herself  in  a  mournful  reverie. 

He  succeeded  in  his  object. 

The  showman's  shrill  voice  brought  the  banker's  wife  back 
to  a  sense  of  reality;  she  started,  and  looked  quickly  about 
her,  as  if  suddenly  awakened  from  a  troubled  dream. 

*'  Now,  ladies,  we  are  in  China.  The  first  picture  on  my 
canvas,  here  in  the  left  corner,"  here  he  touched  the  top  daub, 
"  represents  the  celebrated  Mandarin  Li-Fo,  in  the  bosom  of 
his  family.  This  pretty  woman  leaning  over  him  is  his  wife; 
and  these  children  playing  on  the  carpet  are  the  bonds  of  love 
between  this  happy  pair.  Do  you  not  inhale  the  odor  of 
sanctity  and  happiness  emanating  from  this  speaking  picture, 
gentlemen? 

"  Madame  Li-Fo  is  the  moat  virtuous  of  women,  adoring 
her  husband  and  idolizing  her  children.  Being  virtuous,  she 
is  happy;  for  the  wise  Confucius  says,  *  The  ways  of  virtue  are 
more  pleasant  than  the  ways  of  vice.'  " 

Mme.  Fauvel  had  left  her  seat,  and  approached  nearer  to 
the  clown. 

"  Do  you  see  anything  on  the  banner  like  what  he  is  de- 
scribing?" asked  the  melancholy  Punch  of  his  neighbor. 

"  Not  a  thing.     Do  you?" 

The  fact  is,  that  the  daubs  of  paint  on  the  canvas  repre- 
sented one  thing  as  well  as  another,  and  the  clown  could  call 
them  whatever  he  pleased. 

"  Picture  No.  2!"  he  cried,  after  a  flourish  of  music. 
**  This  old  lady,  seated  before  a  mirror  tearing  out  her  hair — 
especially  the  gray  ones — ^you  have  seen  before;  do  you  recog' 


PILE  NO.  113.  135 

nize  her?  'No,  you  do  not.  She  is  the  fair  mandarine  of  the 
first  picture.  I  see  the  tears  in  your  eyes,  ladies  and  gentle- 
men. Ah!  you  have  cause  to  weep,  for  she  is  no  longer  virtu- 
ous, and  her  happiness  has  departed  with  her  virtue.  Alas,  it 
is  a  sad  tale!  One  fatal  day  she  met,  on  the  streets  of  Pekin, 
a  young  ruffian,  fiendish,  but  beautiful  as  an  angel,  and  she 
loved  him — the  unfortunate  woman  loved  him!'' 

The  last  words  were  uttered  in  the  most  tragic  tone  as  he 
raised  his  clasped  hands  to  Heaven. 

During  this  tirade  he  had  whirled  around,  so  that  he  found 
himself  facing  the  banker's  wife,  whose  countenance  he  close- 
ly watched  while  he  was  speaking. 

"  You  are  surprised,  gentlemen,"  he  continued.  "  I  am 
not.  The  great  Bibloquet  has  proved  to  us  that  the  heart  never 
grows  old,  and  that  the  most  vigorous  wall-flowers  flourish  on 
old  ruins.  This  unhappy  woman  is  nearly  fifty  years  old — 
fifty  years  old,  and  in  love  with  a  youth!  Hence  this  heart- 
rending scene,  which  should  serve  as  a  warning  to  us  all." 

"  Eeally!"  grumbled  a  cook  dressed  in  white  satin,  who  had 
passed  the  evening  in  carrying  around  bills  of  fare,  which  no 
one  read,  "  I  thought  he  was  going  to  amuse  us." 

*' But,"  continued  the  clown,  "you  must  go  inside  of  the 
booth,  to  witness  the  effects  of  the  mandarine's  folly.  At 
times,  a  ray  of  reason  penetrates  her  diseased  brain,  and  then 
the  sight  of  her  anguish  would  soften  a  heart  of  stone.  Enter, 
and,  for  the  small  sum  of  ten  sous,  you  shall  hear  sobs  such  as 
the  Odeon  never  echoed  in  its  halcyon  days.  The  unhappy 
woman  has  waked  up  to  the  absurdity  and  inanity  of  her  blind 
passion;  she  confesses  to  herself  that  she  is  madly  pursuing  a 
phantom.  She  knows,  but  too  well,  that  he,  in  the  vigor  and 
beauty  of  youth,  can  not  love  a  faded  old  woman  like  herself, 
who  vainly  makes  pitiable  efforts  to  retain  the  last  remains  of 
ner  once  enchanting  beauty.  She  feels  that  the  sweet  words 
he  once  whispered  in  her  charmed  ear  were  deceitful  false- 
hoods. She  knows  that  the  day  is  near  when  she  will  be  left 
alone,  with  nothing  save  his  mantle  in  her  hand." 

As  the  clown  addressed  this  vo\uble  description  to  the  crowd 
before  him,  he  narrowly  watched  the  countenance  of  the 
banker's  wife. 

But  nothing  he  had  said  seemed  to  affect  her.  She  leaned 
back  in  her  arm-chair  perfectly  calm,  and  occasionally  smiled 
at  the  tragic  manner  of  the  showman. 

"  Good  heavens!"  muttered  the  clown,  uneasily,  "  can  I  bo 
on  the  wrong  track?" 


136  LB   NO.   11 

He  saw  that  his  circle  of  listeners  was  increased  by  the  pre* 
ence  of  the  doge,  M.  de  Clameran. 

"  The  third  picture/'  he  said,  after  a  roll  of  drums,  **de« 
plots  the  old  mandarine  after  she  has  dismissed  that  most  an- 
noying of  guests — remorse — from  her  bosom.  She  promisei 
herself  that  interest  shall  supply  the  place  of  love  in  chaining 
the  too  seductive  youth  to  her  side.  It  is  with  this  object 
that  she  invests  him  with  false  honors  and  dignity,  and  intro- 
duces him  to  the  chief  mandarins  of  the  capital  of  the  Celestial 
Empire;  then,  since  so  handsome  a  youth  must  cut  a  fine  fig- 
ure in  society,  and  as  a  fine  figure  can  not  be  cut  without 
money,  the  lady  must  needs  to  sacrifice  all  of  her  possessions 
for  his  sake.  Necklaces,  rings,  bracelets,  diamonds,  and 
pearls,  all  are  surrendered.  The  monster  carries  all  these 
jewels  to  the  pawnbrokers  on  Tien-Tsi  Street,  and  then  has 
the  cruelty  to  refuse  her  the  tickets,  so  that  she  may  have  a 
chance  of  redeeming  her  treasures.'' 

The  clown  thought  that  at  last  he  had  hit  the  mark.  Mme. 
Fauvel  began  to  betray  signs  of  agitation. 

Once  she  made  an  attempt  to  rise  from  the  chair,  but  it 
seemed  as  if  her  strength  failed  her,  and  she  sunk  back,  forced 
to  listen  to  the  end. 

*'  Finally,  ladies  and  gentlemen,"  continued  the  clown, 
*'  the  richly  stored  jewel-cases  became  empty.  The  day  came 
when  the  mandarine  had  nothing  more  to  give*  It  was  then 
that  the  young  scoundrel  conceived  the  project  of  carrying  off 
the  jasper  button  belonging  to  the  Mandarine  Li-Fo — a  splen- 
did jewel  of  incalculable  value,  which  being  the  badge  of  the 
dignity,  was  kept  in  a  granite  chest,  and  guarded  by  three 
soldiers  night  and  day.  Ah!  the  mandarine  resisted  a  long 
time!  She  knew  the  innocent  soldiers  would  be  accused  and 
crucified,  as  is  the  custom  in  Pekin;  and  this  thought  restrained 
her.  But  her  lover  besought  her  so  tenderly,  that  she  finally 
yielded  to  his  entreaties;  and — the  jasper  button  was  stolen. 
The  fourth  picture  represents  the  guilty  couple  stealthily 
creeping  down  the  private  stairway:  see  their  frightened  look 
— see — " 

He  abruptly  stopped.  Three  or  four  of  his  auditors  rushed 
to  the  assistance  of  Mme.  Fauvel,  "nho  seemed  about  to  faint; 
and  at  the  'same  time  he  felt  his  arm  roughly  seized  by  some 
one  behind  him. 

He  turned  round  and  faced  De  Clameran  and  Lagors,  botli 
of  whom  were  pale  with  anger. 

*'  What  do  you  want,  gentlemen?"  he  inquired,  politely. 

"  To  speak  to  you,"  thev  both  answered. 


PILE    NO.    113.  13l 

"  I  am  at  your  service. " 

And  he  followed  them  to  the  end  of  the  picture-gallery, 
near  a  window  opening  on  a  balcony. 

Here  they  were  unobserved  except  by  the  man  in  the  Vene< 
tian  cloak,  whom  the  clown  had  so  respectfully  addressed  aii 
**  Monsieur  the  Counf 

The  minuet  having  ended,  the  orchestras  were  resting,  and 
the  crowd  began  rapidly  to  fill  the  gallery. 

The  sudden  faintness  of  Mme.  Fauvel  had  passed  off  un- 
noticed save  by  a  few,  who  attributed  it  to  the  heat  of  th^ 
room.  M.  Fauvel  had  been  sent  for;  but  when  he  came  hur- 
rying in,  and  found  his  wife  composedly  talking  to  Madeleine^ 
his  alarm  was  dissipated,  and  he  returned  to  the  card-tables. 

Not  having  as  much  control  over  his  temper  as  Eaoul,  M. 
de  Clameran  angrily  said: 

"  In  the  first  place,  monsieur,  I  would  like  to  know  who 
you  are. " 

The  clown,  determined  to  answer  as  if  he  thought  the  ques- 
tion were  a  jest,  replied  in  the  bantering  tone  of  a  buffoon: 

*'  You  want  my  passport,  do  you,  my  lord  doge?  I  left  it 
in  the  hands  of  the  city  authorities;  it  contains  my  name,  age, 
profession,  domicile,  and  every  detail — " 

With  an  angry  gesture,  M.  de  Clameran  interrupted  him. 

"  You  have  just  committed  a  gross  insult!'' 

"I,  my  lord  doge?'' 

"  Yes,  you!  What  do  you  mean  by  telling  this  abominable 
story  in  this  house?" 

'*  Abomin'able!  You  may  call  it  abominable;  but  I,  who 
composed  it,  have  a  different  opinion  of  it." 

"Enough,  monsieur;  you  will  at  least  have  the  courage  to 
acknowledge  that  your  performance  was  a  vile  insinuation 
against  Madame  Fauvelr' 

The  clown  stood  with  his  head  thrown  back,  and  mouth 
wide  open,  as  if  astounded  at  what  he  heard. 

But  any  one  who  knew  him  would  have  seen  his  bright  black 
eyes  sparkling  with  malicious  satisfaction. 

*'  Bless  my  heart!"  he  cried,  as  if  speaking  to  himself. 
**  This  is  the  strangest  thing  I  ever  heard  of!  How  can  my 
drama  of  the  Mandarin  Li-Fo  have  any  reference  to  Madame 
Fauvel,  whom  I  don't  know  from  Adam  or  Eve?  I  can't 
think  how  the  resemblance — unless — ^but  no,  that  is  impossi- 
ble." 

"  Do  you  pretend,"  said  M.  de  Clameran,  "  to  be  ignorani 
of  Monsieur  Fauvel's  misfortune?" 

The  clown  looked  very  innocent,  and  asked: 


138  FILE   xo.   113. 

"  What  misfortune?" 

**  The  robbery  of  which  Monsieur  Fauvel  was  the  victim. 
It  has  been  in  every  one's  mouth,  and  you  must  have  heard  of 
it." 

**  Ah,  yes,  yes;  I  remember.  His  cashier  ran  off  with  three 
hundred  and  fifty  thousand  francs.  Pardieu!  It  is  a  thing 
that  almost  daily  happens.  But,  as  to  discovering  any  con- 
nection between  this  robbery  and  my  play,  that  is  another 
matter. " 

M.  de  Clameran  made  no  reply.  A  nudge  from  Lagors  had 
calmed  him  as  if  by  enchantment. 

He  looked  quietly  at  the  clown,  and  seemed  to  regret  having 
uttered  the  significant  words  forced  from  him  by  angry  excite- 
ment. 

**  Very  well,"  he  finally  said  in  his  usual  haughty  tone;  *'  I 
must  have  been  mistaken.     I  accept  yonr  explanation." 

But  the  clown,  hitherto  so  humble  and  silly  looking,  seemed 
to  take  offense  at  the  word,  and,  assuming  a  defiant  attitude, 
said: 

"  I  have  not  made,  nor  do  I  intend  making,  any  explana- 
tion.'* 

"  Monsieur  " — began  De  Clameran. 

*'  Allow  me  to  finish,  if  you  please.  If,  unintentionally,  I 
have  offended  the  wife  of  a  man  whom  I  highly  esteem,  it  is 
his  business  to  seek  redress,  and  not  yours.  Perhaps  you  will 
tell  me  he  is  too  old  to  demand  satisfaction;  if  so,  let  him  send 
one  of  his  sons.  I  saw  one  of  them  in  the  ball-room  to-night; 
let  him  come.  You  asked  me  who  I  am;  in  return  I  ask  you 
who  are  you — you  who  undertake  to  act  as  Madame  Fauvel's 
champion?  Are  you  her  relative,  friend,  or  ally?  What  right 
have  you  to  insult  her  by  pretending  to  discover  an  allusion  to 
her  in  a  play  invented  for  amusement?** 

There  was  nothing  to  be  said  in  reply  to  this.  M.  de 
Clameran  sought  a  means  of  escape. 

"  I  am  a  friend  of  Monsieur  Fauvel,*'  he  said,  "  and  this 
title  gives  me  the  right  \ii)  be  as  jealous  of  his  reputation  as  if 
it  were  my  own.  If  this  is  not  a  suflicient  reason  for  my  in- 
terference, I  must  inform  you  that  his  family  will  shortly  bo 
mine:  I  regard  myself  as  his  nephew." 

"  Ah!" 

**  Next  week,  monsieur,  my  marriage  with  Mademoiselle 
Madeleine  will  be  publicly  announced." 

This  news  was  so  unexpected,  so  startling,  that  for  a  mo* 
ment  the  clown  was  dumb;  and  now  his  surprise  was  genuine 


FILE    N-0.    IW.  139 

But  he  soon  recovered  himself,  and,  bowing  with  deference, 
eaid,  with  covert  irony: 

"  Permit  me  to  offer  my  congratulations,  monsieur.  Be- 
sides being  the  belle  to-night.  Mademoiselle  Madeleine  is  worth, 
I  hear,  half  a  million." 

Eaoul  de  Lagors  had  anxiously  been  watching  the  people 
near  them,  to  see  if  they  overheard  this  conversation. 

"  We  have  had  enough  of  this  gossip,"  he  said,  in  a  disdain- 
ful tone;  "  I  will  only  say  one  thing  more.  Master  Clown,  and 
that  is,  that  your  tongue  is  too  long." 

"  Perhaps  it  is,  my  pretty  youth,  perhaps  it  is;  but  my  arm 
is  still  longer.'* 

De  Clameran  here  interrupted  them  by  saying: 
.  **  It  is  impossible  for  one  to  seek  an  explanation  from  a  man 
who  conceals  his  identity  under  the  guise  of  a  fool." 

"  You  are  at  liberty,  my  lord  doge,  to  ask  the  master  of  th« 
house  who  I  am — if  you  dare.'' 

*'  You  are,"  cried  Clameran,  "  you  are — " 

A  warning  look  from  Eaoul  checked  the  forge-master  from 
using  an  epithet  which  would  have  led  to  an  affray,  or  at  least 
a  scandalous  scene. 

The  clown  stood  by  with  a  sardonic  smile,  and,  after  a  mo- 
ment's silence,  stared  M.  de  Clameran  steadily  in  the  face, 
and  in  measured  tones,  said : 

"  I  was  the  best  friend,  monsieur,  that  your  brother  Gaston 
ever  had.  I  was  his  adviser,  and  the  confidant  of  his  last 
wishes. " 

These  few  words  fell  like  a  clap  of  thunder  upon  De  Clame- 
ran. 

He  turned  deadly  pale,  and  started  back  with  his  handi 
otretched  out  before  him,  as  if  shrinking  from  a  phantom. 

He  tried  to  answer,  to  protest  against  this  assertion,  but  the 
words  froze  on  his  lips.     His  fright  was  pitiable. 

"  Come,  let  us  go,"  said  Lagors,  who  was  perfectly  cool. 

And  he  dragged  Clameran  away,  half  supporting  him,  for 
lie  staggered  like  a  drunken  man,  and  clung  to  every  object 
he  passed,  to  prevent  falling. 

"Oh!"  exclaimed  the  clown,  in  three  different  tones,  **  oh, 
oh!" 

He  himself  was  almost  as  much  astonished  as  the  forge* 
master,  and  remained  rooted  to  the  spot,  watching  the  latter 
Qs  he  slowly  left  the  room. 

It  was  with  no  decided  object  in  view  that  he  had  ventured 
to  use  the  last  mysteriously  threateumg  words,  but  he  had 


HO  FILE    NO.    113. 

been  inspired  to  do  so  by  his  wonderful  instinct,  wliicli  with 
him  was  like  the  scent  of  a  blood-hound. 

"What  can  this  mean?"  he  murmurs.  *' Why  was  he  so 
frightened?  What  terrible  memory  have  I  awakened  in  his 
base  soul?  I  need  not  boast  of  my  penetration,  or  the  subtlety 
of  my  plans.  There  is  a  great  master,  who,  without  any 
effort,  in  an  instant  destroys  all  my  chimeras;  he  is  called 
*  Chance.' '^ 

His  mind  had  wandered  far  from  the  present  scene,  when  he 
was  brought  back  to  his  situation  by  some  one  touching  him 
on  the  shoulder.     It  was  the  man  in  the  Venetian  cloak. 

"  Are  you  satisfied.  Monsieur  Verduret?"  he  inquired. 

"  Yes  and  no.  Monsieur  the  Count.  No,  because  I  have  not 
completely  achieved  the  object  I  had  in  view  when  I  asked  you 
for  an  invitation  here  to-night;  yes,  bacause  these  two  rascals 
behaved  in  a  manner  which  dispels  all  doubt. " 

"  And  yet  you  complain — '* 

**  I  do  not  complain.  Monsieur  the  Count:  on  the  contrary, 
I  bless  chance,  or  rather  Providence  which  has  just  revealed  to 
me  the  existence  of  a  secret  that  I  did  not  before  even  sus- 
pect. " 

Five  or  six  people  approached  the  count,  and  he  went  off 
with  them  after  giving  the  clown  a  friendly  nod. 

The  latter  instantly  threw  aside  his  banner,  and  started  in 
pursuit  of  Mme.  Fauvel.  He  found  her  sitting  on  a  sofa  in 
the  large  salon,  engaged  in  an  animated  conversation  with 
MaJeleine. 

"  Of  course  they  are  talking  over  the  scene;  but  what  has 
become  of  Lagors  and  De  Clameran?" 

He  soon  saw  them  wandering  among  the  groups  scattered 
about  the  room,  and  eagerly  asking  questions. 

"  I  will  bet  my  head  these  honorable  gentlemen  are  trying 
to  find  out  who  I  am.  Keep  it  up,  my  friends,  ask  everybody 
in  the  room;  I  wish  you  success.'* 

They  soon  gave  it  up,  but  were  so  preoccupied,  and  anxious 
to  be  alone  in  order  to  reflect  and  deliberate,  that,  without 
waiting  for  supper,  they  took  leave  of  Mme.  Fauvel  and  her 
niece,  saying  they  were  going  home. 

The  clown  saw  them  go  up  to  the  dressing-room  for  their 
cloaks,  and  in  a  few  minutes  leave  the  house. 

"1  have  nothing  more  to  do  here,'' he  murmured;  "I 
might  as  well  go  too." 

He  completely  covered  his  dress  with  a  domino,  and  started 
for  home,  thinking  the  cold,  frosty  air  would  cool  his  confused 
brain. 


FILE    NO.    113.  141 

He  lit  a  cigar,  and,  walking  up  the  Rue  St.  Lazare,  crossed 
the  Rue  Notre  Dame de  Loretto,  and  etruck  into  the  Faubourg 
Montmartre. 

A  man  suddenly  started  out  from  a  place  of  concealment, 
and  rushed  upon  him  with  a  dagger. 

Fortunately  the  clown  had  a  cat-like  instinct,  which  enabled 
him  to  protect  himself  against  immediate  danger,  and  detect 
any  which  threatened. 

He  saw,  or  rather  divined,  the  man  crouching  in  the  dark 
shadow  of  a  house,  and  had  the  presence  of  mind  to  strike  an 
attitude  which  enabled  him  to  ward  off  the  assassin  by  spread- 
ing out  his  arms  before  him. 

This  movement  certainly  saved  his  life;  for  he  received  in 
his  arm  a  furious  stab  which  would  have  instantly  killed  him 
had  it  penetrated  his  breast. 

Anger  more  than  pain,  made  him  cry  out: 

"Ah,  you  villain!" 

And  recoiling  a  few  feet,  he  put  himself  on  the  defensive. 

But  the  precaution  was  useless. 

Seeing  his  blow  miss,  the  assassin  did  not  return  to  the  at- 
tack, but  made  rapidly  off. 

*'  That  was  certainly  Lagors,''  said  the  clown,  *'  and  Clame- 
rau  must  be  somewhere  near.  While  I  walked  around  one 
Bide  of  the  church,  they  must  have  gone  the  other  and  lain  in 
wait  for  me.'' 

His  wound  began  to  pain  him ;  he  stood  under  a  gas-lamp 
to  examine  it. 

It  did  not  appear  to  be  dangerous,  but  the  arm  was  cut 
through  to  the  bone. 

He  tore  his  handkerchief  into  four  bands,  and  tied  his  arm 
up  with  the  dexterity  of  a  surgeon. 

"  I  must  be  on  the  track  of  some  great  crime,  since  these 
fellows  are  resolved  upon  murder.  When  such  cunning 
rogues  are  only  in  danger  of  the  police  court,  they  do  not 
gratuitously  risk  the  chance  of  being  tried  for  murder.*' 

He  thought  by  enduring  a  great  deal  of  pain  he  might  still 
use  his  arm;  so  he  started  in  pursuit  of  his  enemy,  taking  care 
to  keep  in  the  middle  of  the  road,  and  avoid  all  dark  corners. 

Although  he  saw  no  one,  he  was  convinced  that  he  was  be- 
ing pursued. 

He  was  not  mistaken.  When  he  reached  the  Boulevard 
Montmartre,  he  crossed  the  street,  and,  as  he  did  so,  distin-* 
guished  two  shadows  which  he  recognized.  They  crossed  the 
same  street  a  little  higher  up. 

"  I  have  to  deal  with  desperate  men."  he  muttered.    "  They 


142  FILE    NO.    113. 

do  not  eren  take  the  paius  to  conceal  their  puraui*  ot  me. 
They  seem  to  be  accustomed  to  this  kind  of  adventure-  *nd  tha 
carriage  trick  which  fooled  Fanfedot  would  never  aunpeed 
with  them.  Besides,  my  light  hat  is  a  perfect  beacon  to  lead 
them  on  in  the  night. "  He  continued  his  way  up  the  boulevaK*d, 
and,  without  turning  his  head,  was  sure  that  his  enemies  wvre 
thirty  feet  behind  him. 

*' 1  must  get  rid  of  them  somehow/*  he  said  to  himscU. 
*'  I  can  neither  return  home  nor  to  the  Archangel  with  ther«» 
devils  at  my  heels.  They  are  following  me  to  find  out  whet"* 
I  live,  and  who  I  am.  If  they  discover  that  the  clown  i 
Monsieur  Verduret,  and  that  Monsieur  Verduret  is  Monsieu) 
Lecoq,  my  plans  will  be  ruined.  They  will  escape  abroad  wit! 
the  money,  and  I  shall  be  left  to  console  myself  with  a  wounded 
arm.     A  pleasant  ending  to  all  my  exertions!'* 

The  idea  of  Raoul  and  Clameran  escaping  him  so  exasper- 
ated him,  that,  for  an  instant,  he  thought  of  having  them 
arrested  at  once. 

This  was  easy;  for  he  only  had  to  rush  upon  them,  scream 
for  help,  and  they  would  all  three  be  arrested,  carried  to  the 
watch-house,  and  consigned  to  the  commissary  of  police. 

The  police  often  resort  to  this  ingenious  and  simple  means 
of  arresting  a  malefactor  for  whom  they  are  on  the  lookout, 
and  whom  they  can  not  seize  without  a  warrant. 

The  next  day  there  is  a  general  explanation,  and  the  parties, 
if  innocent,  are  dismissed. 

The  clown  had  sufficient  proof  to  sustain  him  in  the  arrest 
of  Lagors.  He  could  show  the  letter  and  the  mutilated  prayer- 
book,  he  could  reveal  the  existence  of  the  pawnbrokers'  tickets 
in  the  house  at  Vesinet,  he  could  display  his  wounded  arm. 
He  could  force  Raoul  to  confess  how  and  why  he  had  assumed 
the  name  of  Lagors,  and  what  his  motive  was  in  passing  him- 
self off  for  a  relative  of  M.  Fauvel. 

On  the  other  hand,  in  acting  thus  hastily,  he  was  insuring 
the  safety  of  the  principal  plotter,  De  Clameran.  What 
proofs  had  he  against  him?  Not  one.  He  had  strong  sus- 
picions, but  no  well-grounded  charge  to  produce  against  him. 

On  reflection  the  clown  decided  that  be  would  act  alone,  as 
he  had  thus  far  done,  and  that  alone  and  unaided  he  would 
discover  the  truth  of  all  his  suspicions. 

Having  reached  this  decision,  the  first  step  to  be  taken  was 
to  put  his  followers  on  the  wrong  scent. 

He  walked  rapidly  up  the  Rue  Sebastopol,  and,  reaching 
t^e  square  ol  the  Arts  de  Metiers,  he  abruptly  stopped,  and 


FILE    NO.    113.  143 

asked  some  insignificant  questions  of  two  constables  who  wera 
standing  talking  together. 

The  maneuver  liad  the  result  he  expected;  Raoul  and  Clame- 
ran  stood  perfectly  still  about  twenty  steps  off,  not  daring  to 
advance. 

Twenty  steps!  That  was  as  much  start  as  the  clown  wanted. 
While  talking  with  the  constables,  he  had  pulled  the  bell  of  tlie 
door  before  which  they  were  standing,  and  its  hollow  sound 
apprised  him  that  the  door  was  open.  He  bowed,  and  entered 
the  house. 

A  minute  later  the  constables  had  passed  on,  and  Lagors 
and  Olameran  in  their  turn  rang  the  bell.  When  tbe  con- 
cierge  appeared,  they  asked  who  it  was  that  had  just  gone  in 
disguised  as  a  clown. 

They  were  told  that  no  such  person  had  entered,  and  that 
none  of  the  lodgers  had  gone  out  disguised  that  night.  "  How- 
ever,'' added  the  concierge,  "  I  am  not  very  sure,  for  this  house 
has  a  back  door  which  opens  on  the  Eue  St.  Denis.'' 

"We  are  tricked,"  interrupted  Lagors,  "and  will  never 
know  who  the  clown  is. " 

"  Unless  we  learn  it  too  soon  for  our  own  good,"  said 
Clameran,  musingly. 

While  Lagors  and  Clameran  were  anxiously  trying  to  devise 
some  means  of  discovering  the  clown's  identity,  Verduret 
hurried  up  the  back  street,  and  reached  the  Archangel  as  the 
clock  struck  three. 

Prosper,  who  was  watching  from  his  window,  saw  him  in 
the  distance,  and  ran  down  to  open  the  door  for  him. 

"What  have  you  learned?"  he  said;  "what  did  you  find 
out?  Did  you  see  Madeleine?  Were  Eaoul  and  Clameran  at 
the  ball?" 

But  M.  Verduret  was  not  in  the  habit  of  discussing  private 
atfairs  where  he  might  be  overheard. 

"  First  of  all  let  us  go  into  your  room,  and  get  some  water 
to  wash  this  cut,  which  burns  like  fire." 

"  Heavens!    Are  you  wounded?" 

"  Yes,  it  is  a  little  souvenir  of  your  friend  Eaoul.  Ah,  I 
will  soon  teach  him  the  danger  of  chopping  up  a  man's  arm!" 

Prosper  was  surprised  at  the  look  of  merciless  rage  on  his 
friend's  face  as  he  calmly  washed  and  dressed  his  arm. 

"  Now,  Prosper,  we  will  talk  as  much  as  you  please.  Our 
enemies  are  on  the  alert,  and  we  must  crush  them  instantly, 
or  not  at  all.  I  have  maile  a  mistake.  I  have  been  on  th« 
wcong  track;  it  is  an  accident  liable  to  happen  to  any  man,  no 
matter  how  intelligent  he  may  be.     I  took  the  effect  for  thf 


144  .     PILE    NO.    113. 

cause.  The  day  I  was  convinced  that  culpable  relations  ex* 
isted  between  Eaoul  and  Mme.  Fauvel,  I  thought  I  held  th# 
end  of  the  thread  that  must  lead  us  to  the  truth.  I  should 
have  been  more  mistrustful;  this  solution  was  too  simple,  too 
natural.  '* 

*'  Do  you  suppose  Madame  Fauvel  to  be  innocent?*' 

"  Certainly  not.  But  her  guilt  is  not  such  as  I  first  sup- 
posed. I  imagined  that,  infatuated  with  a  seductive  young 
adventurer,  Madame  Fauvel  had  first  bestowed  upon  him  the 
name  of  one  of  her  relatives,  and  then  introduced  him  as  hei 
nephew.  This  was  an  adroit  stratagem  to  gain  him  admission 
to  her  husband's  house. 

"  She  began  by  giving  him  all  the  money  she  could  dispose 
of;  later  she  let  him  take  her  jewels  to  the  pawnbrokers; 
when  she  had  nothing  more  to  give,  she  allowed  him  to  steal 
the  money  from  her  husband's  safe.  That  is  what  I  first 
thought.'' 

"  And  in  this  way  everything  was  explained?" 

**  No,  this  did  not  explain  everything,  as  I  well  knew  at 
the  time,  and  should,  consequently,  have  studied  my  char- 
acters more  thoroughly.  How  is  Clameran's  position  to  be 
accounted  for,  if  my  first  idea  was  the  correct  one?" 

"  Clameran  is  Lagors's  accomplice,  of  course." 

*' Ah,  there  is  the  mistake!  I  for  a  long  time  believed 
Lagors  to  be  the  principal  person,  when,  in  fact,  he  is  noth- 
ing. Yesterday,  in  a  dispute  between  them,  the  forge-master 
said  to  his  dear  friend,  '  And,  above  all  things,  my  friend,  I 
would  advise  you  not  to  resist  me,  for  if  you  do  I  will  crush 
you  to  atoms.'  That  explains  all.  The  elegant  Lagors  is 
not  the  lover  of  Madame  Fauvel,  but  the  tool  of  Clameran. 
Besides,  did  our  first  suppositions  account  for  the  resigned 
obedience  of  Madeleine?  It  is  Clameran,  and  not  Lagors, 
whom  Madeleine  obeys. " 

Prosper  began  to  remonstrate. 

M.  Verduret  shrugged  his  shoulders.  To  convince  Prosper 
he  had  only  to  utter  one  word;  to  tell  him  thf^t  three  hours 
ago  Clameran  had  announced  his  intended  marriage  with 
Madeleine;  but  he  did  not. 

*'  Clameran,"  he  continued,  "  Clameran  alone  has  Madame 
Fauvel  in  his  power.  Now  the  question  is,  what  is  the  secret 
of  this  terrible  influence  he  has  gained  over  her?  I  have  posi- 
tive proof  that  they  have  not  met  since  their  early  youth  until 
fifteen  months  ago;  and,  as  Madame  Fauvel's  reputation  has 
always  been  above  the  reach  of  slander,  we  must  seek  in  the 
past  for  the  cause  of  her  resigned  obedience  to  his  wilL  " 


FILE   NO.   113.  145 

**  We  can  never  discover  it/*  said  Prosper,  mournfully. 

'*  "We  can  discover  it  as  soon  as  we  know  Clameran^s  past 
life.  Ah!  to-night  he  turned  as  white  as  a  sheet  when  I  men- 
tioned his  brother  Gaston's  name.  And  then  I  remembered 
that  Gaston  died  suddenly,  while  his  brother  Louis  was  making 
him  a  visit.*' 

"  Do  you  think  he  was  murdered?'* 

**  I  thitik  the  men  who  tried  to  assassinate  me  would  do 
anything.  The  robbery,  my  friend,  has  now  become  a  sec- 
ondary detail.  It  is  easily  explained,  and,  if  that  were  all  to 
be  accounted  for,  I  would  say  to  you,  '  My  task  is  done,  let  ua 
go  ask  the  judge  of  instruction  for  a  warrant  of  arrest.'  *' 

Prosper  started  up  with  sparkling  eyes. 

"  Ah,  you  know — is  it  possible?" 

**  Yes,  I  know  who  gave  the  key,  and  I  know  who  told  the 
secret  word." 

"  The  key  might  have  been  Monsieur  Fauvel's.  But  the 
word — " 

"  The  word  you  were  foolish  enough  to  give.  You  have 
forgotten,  I  suppose.  But  unfortunately  Gipsy  remembered. 
You  know  that,  two  days  before  the  robbery,  you  took  Lagers 
and  two  other  friends  to  sup  with  Madame  Gipsy?  Nina  was 
sad,  and  reproached  you  for  not  being  more  devoted  to  her. " 

'*  Yes,  I  remember  that." 

"  But  do  you  remember  what  you  replied  to  her?" 

**  No,  I  do  not,"  said  Prosper,  after  thinking  a  moment. 

"  Well,  I  will  tell  you;  '  Nina,  you  are  unjust  in  reproach- 
ing we  with  not  thinking  constantly  of  yon;  for  at  this  very 
moment  your  dear  name  guards  Monsieur  FauveFs  gafe.*  " 

The  truth  suddenly  burst  upon  Prosper  like  a  thunder-clap. 
He  wrung  his  hands  despairingly,  and  cried: 

"  Yes,  oh,  yes!    I  remember  now." 

"  Then  you  can  easily  understand  the  rest.  One  of  the 
Bcounrlrels  went  to  Madame  Fauvel,  and  compelled  her  to  give 
up  her  husband's  key;  then,  at  a  venture,  placed  the  mov- 
able buttons  on  the  name  of  Gipsy,  opened  the  safe,  and  took 
the  three  hundred  and  fifty  thousand  francs.  And  Madame 
Fauvel  must  have  been  terribly  frightened  before  she  yielded. 
The  day  after  the  robbery,  the  poor  woman  was  near  dying-, 
and  it  was  she  who,  at  the  greatest  risk,  sent  you  the  ten 
thousand  francs." 

"  But  which  was  the  thief,  Raoul  or  Clameran?  What  en- 
ables them  to  thus  tyrannize  over  Madame  Fauvel?  And  how 
^ioes  Madeleine  come  to  be  mixed  up  in  the  affair?" 

*'  These  questions,  my  dear  Prosper,  I  can  not  yet  answerj 


146  FILE    KO.    113. 

therefore  I  postpone  seeing  the  judge.  I  only  ask  you  to  wait 
ten  days;  and  if  I  can  not  in  that  time  discover  the  solution  of 
this  mystery,  I  will  return  and  go  with  you  to  report  to  Mon- 
sieur Patrigent  all  that  we  know.'' 

*'  Are  you  going  to  leave  the  city?*' 

**  In  an  hour  I  shall  be  on  the  road  to  Beaucaire.  It  was 
from  that  neighborhood  that  Clanieran  came,  as  well  as 
Madame  Fauvel,  who  was  a  Mademoiselle  de  la  Verberie  before 
marriage. " 

"  Yes,  I  knew  both  families.*' 

*'  I  must  go  there  to  study  them.  Neither  Raoul  nor 
Clameran  can  escape  during  my  absence.  The  police  are 
watching  them.  But  you,  Prosper,  must  be  prudent.  Prom- 
ise me  to  remain  a  prisoner  here  during  my  trip.'* 

All  that  M.  Verduret  asked.  Prosper  willingly  promised. 
But  he  did  not  wish  to  be  left  in  complete  ignorance  of  his 
projects  for  the  future,  or  of  his  motives  in  the  past. 

Will  you  not  tell  me,  monsieur,  who  you  are,  and  what 
reasons  you  had  for  coming  to  my  rescue?" 

The  extraordinary  man  smiled  sadly,  and  said: 

"  I  will  tell  you,  in  the  presence  of  Nina,  on  the  day  before 
your  marriage  with  Madeleine.*' 

Once  left  to  his  own  reflections.  Prosper  began  to  appreciate 
the  powerful  assistance  rendered  by  his  friend. 

Eecalling  the  field  of  investigation  gone  over  by  his  mysteri- 
ous protector,  he  was  amazed  at  its  extent. 

How  many  facts  had  been  discovered  in  a  week,  and  with 
what  precision,  although  he  had  pretended  to  be  on  the  wrong 
track!  Verduret  had  grouped  his  evidence,  and  reached  a  re- 
sult which  Prosper  felt  he  never  could  have  hoped  to  attain 
by  his  own  exertions. 

He  was  conscious  that  he  possessed  neither  Verduret's  pene- 
tration nor  his  subtlety.  He  did  not  possess  this  art  of  com- 
pelling obedience,  of  creating  friends  at  every  step,  and  the 
science  of  making  men  and  circumstances  unite  in  the  attain- 
ment of  a  common  result. 

He  began  to  regret  the  absence  of  this  friend,  who  had 
risen  up  in  the  hour  of  adversity.  He  missed  the  sometimes 
rough  but  always  kindly  voice,  which  had  encouraged  and  con- 
soled him. 

He  felt  wof ully  lost  and  helpless,  not  daring  to  act  or  think 
for  himself,  more  timid  than  a  child  when  deserted  by  his 
nurse. 

He  had  the  good  sense  to  follow  the  reoommendations  of  his 


FILE    NO.    113.  14? 

mentor.  He  remained  shut  up  in  the  Arhcangel,  not  even  ap- 
pearing at  the  windows. 

Twice  he  had  news  of  M.  Verduret.  The  first  time  he  re« 
ceived  a  letter  in  which  this  friend  said  he  had  seen  his  father, 
and  haci  had  a  long  talk  with  him.  Afterward,  Dubois,  M. 
de  Olameran's  valet,  came  to  tell  him  that  his  "  patron  "  re* 
ported  everything  as  progressing  finely. 

On  the  ninth  day  of  his  voluntary  seclusion  Prosper  began 
^0  feel  restless,  and  at  ten  o'clock  at  night  set  forth  to  take  a 
walk,  thinking  the  fresh  air  would  relieve  the  headache  which 
had  kept  him  awake  the  previous  night. 

Mme.  Alexandre,  who  seemed  to  have  some  knowledge  oi 
M.  Verduret's  affairs,  begged  Prosper  to  remain  at  home. 

"  What  can  I  risk  by  taking  a  walk  at  this  time,  in  a  quiet 
part  of  the  city?"  he  asked.  "  I  can  certainly  stroll  as  far 
as  the  Jardin  des  Plantes  without  meeting  any  one.''* 

Unfortunately  he  did  not  strictly  follow  this  programme; 
for,  having  reached  the  Orleans  railway  station,  he  went  into 
a  cafe  near  by  and  called  for  a  glass  of  ale. 

As  he  sat  sipping  his  glass,  he  picked  up  a  daily  paper, 
"  The  Sun,"  and  under  the  head  bf  "  Fashionable  Gossip,'* 
signed  Jacques  Durand,  read  the  following: 

**  We  understand  that  the  neice  of  one  of  our  most  promi- 
nent banker.  Monsieur  Andre  Fauvel,  will  be  shortly  married 
to  Monsieur  le  Marquis  Louis  de  Clameran.  The  engagement 
has  been  announced.  *' 

This  news,  coming  upon  him  so  unexpectedly,  proved  to 
Prosper  the  justness  of  M.  Verduret's  calculations. 

Alas!  why  did  not  this  certainty  inspire  him  with  absolute 
faith!  why  did  it  not  give  him  courage  to  wait,  the  strength  of 
mind  to  refrain  from  acting  on  his  own  responsibility? 

Frenzied  by  distress  of  mind,  he  already  saw  Madeleine  in- 
dissolubly  united  to  this  villain,  and,  thinking  that  M.  Ver- 
duret would  perhaps  arrive  too  late  to  be  of  use,  determined 
at  all  risks  to  throw  an  obstacle  in  the  way  of  the  marriage. 

He  called  for  pen  and  paper,  and,  forgetting  that  no  sitU' 
ation  can  excuse  the  mean  cowardice  of  an  anonymous  letter, 
wrote  in  a  disguised  hand  the  following  lines  to  M.  Fauvel: 

"  Dear  Sir, — You  consigned  your  cashier  to  prison;  you 
acted  prudently,  since  you  were  convinced  of  his  dishonesty 
and  faithlessness. 

''But,  even  if  he  stole  three  hundred  and  fifty  thousand 
francs  from  your  safe,  does  it  follow  that  he  also  stole  Madam« 


148  PILE    NO.    113. 

Faurel's  diamonds,  and  pawned  them  at  the  Mont-d«-Pi6t6i 
where  they  now  are? 

**  Warned  as  you  are,  if  I  were  you,  I  would  not  be  the  sub- 

i'ect  of  public  scandal.     I  would  watch  my  wife,  and  would 
le  distrustful  of  handsome  cousins. 

"  Moreover,  I  would  before  signing  the  marriage  contract  ol 
Mademoiselle  Madeleine,  inquire  at  the  Prefecture  of  Police, 
and  obtain  some  information  concerning  the  noble  Marquis  d« 
Clameran.  A.  Pkiend.'* 

Prosper  hastened  off  to  post  his  letter.  Fearing  that  it 
would  not  reach  M.  Fauvel  in  time,  he  walked  up  to  the  Rue 
Cardinal  Lemoine,  and  put  it  in  the  main  letter-box/  so  as  to 
be  certain  of  its  speedy  delivery. 

Until  now  he  had  not  doubted  the  propriety  of  his  action. 

But  now,  when  too  late,  when  he  heard  the  sound  of  his  let- 
ter falling  into  the  box,  a  thousand  scruples  filled  his  mind. 
Was  it  not  wrong  to  act  thus  hurriedly?  Would  not  this  let- 
ter interfere  with  M.  Verduret^s  plans?  Upon  reaching  the 
hotel,  his  doubts  were  changed  into  bitter  regrets. 

Joseph  Dubois  was  waiting  for  him;  he  had  received  a  dis- 
patch from  his  patron,  saying  that  his  business  was  finished, 
and  that  he  would  return  the  next  evening  at  nine  o'clock. 

Prosper  was  wretched.  He  would  have  given  all  he  had  to 
recover  the  anonymous  letter. 

And  he  had  cause  for  regret. 

At  that  very  hour  M.  Verduret  was  taking  his  seat  in  the 
cars  at  Tarascon,  meditating  upon  the  most  advantageous  plan 
to  be  adopted  in  pursance  of  his  discoveries. 

For  he  had  discovered  everything,  and  now  must  bring  mat- 
ters to  a  crisis. 

Adding  to  what  he  already  knew,  the  story  of  an  old  nurse 
of  Mile,  de  la  Verberie,  the  affidavit  of  an  old  servant  who  had 
always  lived  in  the  Clameran  family,  and  the  depositions  of  the 
Vesinet  husband  and  wife  who  attended  M.  Lagorsat  his  coun- 
try house,  the  latter  having  been  sent  to  him  by  Dubois  (Fan- 
ferlot),  with  a  good  deal  of  information  obtained  from  the 
prefecture  of  police,  he  had  worked  up  a  complete  case,  and 
•ould  now  act  upon  a  chain  of  evidence  without  a  missing  link. 

As  he  had  predicted,  he  had  been  compelled  to  search  into 
the  distant  past  for  the  first  causes  of  the  crime  of  which  Pros- 
per had  been  the  victim. 

The  following  is  the  drama,  as  he  wrote  it  out  for  the  benefit 
of  the  judge  of  instruction,  knowing  that  it  would  contain 
grounds  for  an  indictment  as:ainst  the  malefactors. 


PILB  KO.   113.  148 


CHAPTER  Xn. 

THE   DKAMA. 

Abotjt  two  leagues  from  Tarascon,  on  the  left  bank  of  the 
Rhone,  not  far  from  the  wonderful  gardens  of  M.  Audibert, 
stood  the  Chateau  of  Clameran,  a  weather-stained,  neglected, 
but  massive  structure. 

Here  lived,  in  1841,  the  old  Marquis  de  Clameran  and  hia 
two  sons,  Gaston  and.  Louis. 

The  marquis  was  an  eccentric  old  man.  He  belonged  to  the 
race  of  nobles,  now  almost  extinct,  whose  watches  stopped  in 
1789  and  who  kept  time  with  the  past  century. 

More  attached  to  his  illusions  than  to  his  life,  the  old  mar- 
quis insisted  upon  considering  all  the  stirring  events  which  had 
happened  since  the  first  revolution  as  a  series  of  deplorable 
practical  jokes. 

Emigrating  with  the  Count  D'Artois,  he  did  not  return  to 
France  until  1815  with  the  allies. 

He  should  have  been  thankful  to  Heaven  for  the  recovery  of 
a  portion  of  his  immense  family  estates;  a  comparatively 
small  portion,  to  be  sure,  but  full  enough  to  support  him  com- 
fortably: he  said,  however,  that  he  did  not  think  the  few 
paltry  acres  were  worth  thanking  God  for. 

At  first,  he  tried  every  means  to  obtain  an  appointment  at 
court;  but,  seeing  all  his  efforts  fail,  he  resolved  to  retire  to 
his  chdteau,  which  he  did,  after  cursing  and  pitying  his  king, 
whom  he  had  worshiped. 

He  soon  became  accustomed  to  the  free  and  indolent  life  of 
a  country  gentleman. 

Possessing  fifteen  thousand  francs  a  year,  he  spent  twenty- 
five  or  thirty  thousand,  borrowing  from  every  source,  saying 
that  a  genuine  restoration  would  soon  take  place,  and  that  then 
he  would  regain  possession  of  all  his  properties. 

Following  his  example,  his  younger  son  lived  extravagantly. 
Louis  was  always  in  pursuit  of  adventure,  and  idled  away  hia 
time  in  drinking  and  gambling.  The  elder  son,  Gaston, 
anxious  to  participate  in  the  stirring  events  of  the  time,  pre- 
pared himself  for  action  by  quietly  working,  studying,  and 
reading  certain  papers  and  pamphlets  surreptitiously  received, 
the  very  mention  of  which  was  considered  a  hanging  mattel 
by  his  father. 

Altogether  the  old  marquis  was  the  happiest  of  mortals,  lir- 


150  PILE   NO.    113. 

ing  well,  drinking  high,  hunting  much,  tolerated  by  the  peas* 
ants,  and  execrated  by  the  gentlemen  of  the  neighborhood, 
who  regarded  him  with  contempt  and  raillery. 

Time  never  hung  heavy  on  his  hands,  except  in  midsummer, 
when  the  valley  of  the  Rhone  was  intensely  hot;  and  even  then 
he  had  infallible  means  of  amusement,  always  new,  though  evei 
the  same. 

He  detested,  above  all,  his  neighbor,  the  Countess  de  la 
Verberie. 

The  Countess  de  la  Verberie,  the  **  hete  noire  "  of  the  mar- 
quis, as  he  ungallantly  termed  her,  was  a  tall,  dry  woman, 
angular  in  appearance  and  character,  cold  and  arrogant  toward 
her  equals,  and  domineering  over  her  inferiors. 

Like  her  noble  neighbor,  she  too  had  emigrated;  and  her 
husband  was  afterward  killed  at  Lutzen,  but  unfortunately  not 
in  the  French  ranks. 

In  1815  the  countess  came  back  to  France.  But  while  the 
Marquis  de  Clameran  returned  to  comparative  ease,  she  could 
obtain  nothing  from  royal  munificence  but  the  small  estate 
and  Chateau  of  La  Verberie. 

It  is  true  that  the  Chateau  of  La  Verberie  would  have  con- 
tented most  people;  but  the  countess  never  ceased  to  complain 
of  her  unmerited  poverty,  as  she  called  it. 

The  pretty  chdteau  was  more  modest  in  appearance  than  the 
manor  of  the  Clamerau's;  but  it  was  equally  comfortable,  and 
much  better  regulated  by  its  proud  mistress. 

It  was  built  in  the  middle  of  a  beautiful  park,  one  of  the 
wonders  of  that  part  of  the  country.  It  reached  from  the 
Baucaire  road  to  the  river  bank,  a  marvel  of  beauty,  with  its 
superb  old  oaks,  yolk-elms,  and  lovely  groves,  its  meadow,  and 
clear  stream  of  water  winding  in  among  the  trees. 

The  countess  had  but  one  child — a  lovely  girl  of  eighteen, 
named  Valentine:  fair,  slender,  and  graceful,  with  large,  soft 
eyes,  beautiful  enough  to  make  the  stone  saints  of  the  village 
church  thrill  in  their  niches  when  she  knelt  piously  at  their 
feet. 

The  renown  of  her  great  beauty,  carried  on  the  rapid  waters 
of  the  Rhone,  was  spread  far  and  wide. 

Often  the  bargemen  and  the  robust  wagoners,  driving  their 
powerful  horses  along  the  road,  would  stop  to  gaze  with  admi- 
ration upon  Valentine  seated  under  some  grand  old  tree  on  the 
banks  of  the  river,  absorbed  in  her  book. 

At  a  distancft  her  white  dress  and  flowing  tresses  made  her 
seem  a  mysterious  spirit  from  another  world,  these  honest 
people  said;  they  thought  it  a  good  omen  when  they  caught  a 


FILE    3S-0.    113.  ISl 

glimpse  of  her  as  they  passed  up  the  river.  All  along  between 
Arlfis  and  Valence  she  was  spoken  of  as  the  "  lovely  fairy"  of 
La  Verberie. 

If  M.  de  Clameran  detested  the  countess,  Mme.  de  la  Ver- 
berie execrated  the  marquis.  If  he  niciinamed  her  "  the 
witch/'  she  never  called  liini  anything  but  "  the  old  gander.'* 

And  yet  they  should  have  agreed,  for  at  heart  they  cherished 
the  same  opinions,  with  different  ways  of  viewing  them. 

He  considered  himself  a  philosopher,  scoffed  at  everything, 
and  had  an  excellent  digestion.  She  nursed  her  rancor,  and 
grew  yellow  and  thin  from  rage  and  envy. 

Nevertheless,  they  might  have  spent  many  pleasant  even- 
ings together,  for,  after  all,  they  were  neighbors.  From 
Clameran  could  be  seen  Valentine's  greyhound  running 
about  the  park  of  La  Verberie;  from  La  Verberie  glimpses 
were  had  of  the  lights  in  the  dining-room  windows  of  Clame- 
ran. 

And,  as  regularly  as  these  lights  appeared  every  evening, 
the  countess  would  say  in  a  spiteful  tone: 

"  Ah,  now  their  orgies  are  about  to  commence." 

The  two  chateau s  were  only  separated  by  the  fast-flowing 
Rhone,  which  at  this  spot  was  rather  narrow. 

But  between  the  two  families  existed  a  hatred  deeper  and 
more  difficult  to  avert  than  the  course  of  the  Ehone. 

What  was  the  cause  of  this  hatred? 

The  countess,  no  less  than  the  marquis,  would  have  found 
it  difficult  to  tell. 

It  was  said  that  under  the  reign  of  Henry  IV.  or  Louis 
XIIL,  a  La  Verberie  betrayed  the  affection  of  a  fair  daughter 
of  the  Clamerans. 

This  misdeed  led  to  a  duel  and  bloodshed. 

This  ground -work  of  facts  had  been  highly  embellished  by 
fiction;  handed  down  from  generation  to  generation,  it  had 
now  become  a  long  tragic  history  of  robbery,  murder,  and 
rapine,  which  precluded  any  intercourse  between  the  two 
families. 

The  usual  result  followed,  as  it  always  does  in  real  life,  and 
often  in  romances,  which,  however  exaggerated  they  may  be, 
generally  preserve  a  reflection  of  the  truth  which  inspires 
them. 

Gaston  met  Valentine  at  an  entertainment;  he  fell  in  loye 
with  her  at  first  sight. 

Valentine  saw  Gaston,  and  from  that  moment  hisimag« 
filled  her  heart. 

Bat  60  many  obstacles  separated  themi 


152  FILB    NO.    113. 

For  over  a  year  they  both  religiously  guarded  their  Becrel> 
buried  like  a  treasure  in  the  inmost  recesses  of  their  hearts. 

And  this  year  of  charming,  dangerous  reveries  decided  thei*. 
fate.  To  the  sweetness  of  the  first  impression  succeeded  « 
more  tender  sentiment;  then  came  love,  each  having  endowed 
the  other  with  superhuman  qualities  and  ideal  perfections. 

Deep,  sincere  passion  can  only  expand  in  solitude;  in  the 
impure  air  of  a  city  it  fades  and  dies,  like  the  hardy  planta 
which  lose  their  color  and  perfume  when  transplanted  to  the 
hot-house. 

Gaston  and  Valentine  had  only  seen  each  other  once,  but 
seeing  was  to  love;  and  as  the  time  passed,  their  love  grew 
stronger,  until  at  last  the  fatality  which  had  presided  over 
their  first  meeting  brought  them  once  more  together. 

They  both  happened  to  be  spending  the  day  with  the  old 
Duchess  d'Arlange,  who  had  returned  to  the  neighborhood  to 
see  her  property. 

They  spoke  to  each  other,  and  like  old  friends,  surprised  to 
find  that  they  both  entertained  the  same  thoughts  and  echoed 
the  same  memories. 

Again  they  were  separated  for  months.  But  soon,  as  if  by 
accident,  they  happened  to  be  at  a  certain  hour  on  the  banks 
of  the  Rhone,  and  would  sit  and  gaze  across  at  each  other. 

Finally,  one  mild  May  evening,  when  Mme.  de  la  Verberie 
had  gone  to  Beaucaire,  Gaston  ventured  into  the  park,  and 
appeared  before  Valentine. 

She  was  not  surprised  or  indignant.  Genuine  innocence  dis- 
plays none  of  the  startled  modesty  assumed  by  conventional 
innocence.  It  never  occurred  to  Valentine  that  she  ought  to 
bid  Gaston  to  leave  her. 

She  leaned  upon  his  arm,  and  strolled  up  and  down  the 
grand  old  avenue  of  oaks.  They  did  not  say  they  loved  each 
other,  they  felt  it;  but  they  did  say  that  their  love  was  hope- 
less. They  well  knew  that  the  inveterate  family  feud  could 
never  be  overcome,  and  that  it  would  be  folly  to  attempt  it. 
They  swore  never,  never  to  forget  each  other,  and  tearfully 
resolved  never  to  meet  again;  never,  not  even  once  more! 

Alas!  Valentine  was  not  without  excuse.  With  a  timid, 
loving  heart,  her  expansive  affection  was  repressed  and  chilled 
by  a  harsh  mother.  Never  had  there  been  one  of  those  long 
private  talks  between  the  Countess  de  la  Verberie  and  Valen- 
tine which  enable  a  good  mother  to  read  her  daughter's  heart 
like  an  open  book. 

Mme.  de  la  Verberie  saw  nothing  but  her  daughter's  beauty. 
She  was  woi.t  to  rub  her  hands  andsai: 


FILE  iro.  113.  151 

"  Kext  winter  I  will  borrow  enough  money  to  take  the  chil(f 
to  Paris,  and  I  am  much  mistaken  if  her  beauty  does  not  win 
her  a  rich  husband  who  will  release  me  from  poverty.'" 

She  called  this  loving  her  daughter. 

The  second  meeting  was  not  the  last.  Gaston  dared  no^ 
trust  to  a  boatman,  so  he  was  obliged  to  walk  a  league  in  order 
to  cross  the  bridge.  Then  he  thought  it  would  be  shorter  to 
swim  the  river;  but  he  could  not  swim  well,  and  to  cross  the 
Khone  where  it  ran  so  rapidly  was  rash  for  the  most  skillful 
swimmers. 

^  One  evening,  however,  Valentine  was  startled  by  seeing  him 
rise  out  of  the  water  at  her  feet. 

She  made  him  promise  never  to  attempt  this  exploit  again. 
He  repeated  the  feat  and  the  promise  next  evening  and  every 
successive  evening. 

As  Valentine  always  imagined  he  was  being  drowned  in  the 
furious  current,  they  agreed  upon  a  signal.  At  the  moment 
of  starting,  Gaston  would  put  a  light  in  his  window  at  Clame- 
ran,  and  in  fifteen  minutes  he  would  be  at  his  idol's  feet. 

"What  were  the  projects  and  hopes  of  the  lovers.''  Alas!  they 
projected  nothing,  they  hoped  for  nothing. 

Blindly,  thoughtlessly,  almost  fearlessly,  they  abandoned 
themselves  to  the  dangerous  happiness  of  a  daily  rendezvous; 
regardless  of  the  storm  that  must  ere  long  burst  over  their 
devoted  heads,  they  reveled  in  their  present  bliss. 

Is  not  every  sincere  passion  thus?  Passion  subsists  upon  it- 
self and  in  itself;  and  the  very  things  which  ought  to  extin- 
guish it,  absence  and  obstacles,  only  make  it  burn  more  fierce- 
ly. It  is  exclusive  and  undisturbed;  reflects  neither  of  the 
past  nor  of  the  future;  excepting  the  present,  it  sees  and 
cares  for  nothing. 

Moreover,  Valentine  and  Gaston  believed  every  one  ignorant 
of  their  secret. 

They  had  always  been  so  cautious!  they  had  kept  such  strict 
watch!  They  had  flattered  themselves  that  their  conduct  had 
been  a  masterpiece  of  dissimulation  and  prudence. 

Valentine  had  fixed  upon  the  hour  when  she  was  certain  her 
mother  would  not  miss  her.  Gaston  had  never  confided  to 
any  one,  not  even  to  his  brother  Louis.  They  never  breathed 
each  other's  name.  They  denied  themselves  a  last  sweet  word, 
a  last  kiss,  when  they  felt  it  would  be  more  safe. 

Poor  blind  lovers!  As  if  anything  could  be  concealed  from 
the  idle  curiosity  of  country  gossips;  from  the  slanderous  and 
Bver-watchfol  enemies  who  are  incessantly  on  tiie  lookout  for 


154  PILE    NO.    113. 

some  new  oit  of  tittle-tattle,  good  or  bad,  which  they  Improve 
upon,  and  eagerly  spread  far  and  near. 

They  believed  their  secret  well  kept,  whereas  it  had  long 
since  been  made  public:  the  story  of  their  love,  the  particulars 
of  their  rendezvous,  were  topics  of  conversation  throughout  the 
neighborhood. 

{Sometimes,  at  dusk,  they  would  see  a  bark  gliding  along  tho 
water,  near  the  shore  and  would  say  to  each  other: 

*'  It  is  a  belated  fisherman,  returning  home.'* 

They  were  mistaken.  The  boat  contained  malicious  spies, 
who  delighted  in  having  discovered  them,  and  hastened  to  re- 
port, with  a  thousand  false  additions,  the  result  of  their  expe- 
dition. 

One  dreary  November  evening,  Gaston  was  awakened  to  the 
true  state  of  affairs.  The  Rhone  was  so  swelled  by  heavy  rains 
that  an  inundation  was  daily  expected.  To  attempt  to  swim 
across  this  impetuous  torrent  would  be  tempting  God.  There- 
fore Gaston  went  to  Tarascon,  intending  to  cross  the  bridge 
there,  and  walk  along  the  bank  to  the  usual  place  of  meeting 
at  La  Verberie.     Valentine  expected  him  at  eleven  o'clock. 

Whenever  Gaston  went  to  Tarascon,  he  dined  with  a  relative 
living  there;  but  on  this  occasion  a  strange  fatality  led  him  to 
accompany  a  friend  to  the  hotel  of  the  Three  Emperors. 

After  dinner,  they  went  not  to  the  Cafe  Simon,  their  usual 
resort,  but  to  the  little  caje  in  the  market-place,  where  the  fairs 
were  held. 

The  small  dining-hall  was  filled  with  young  men.  Gaston 
and  his  friend  called  for  a  bottle  of  beer,  and  began  to  play 
billiards. 

After  they  had  been  playing  a  short  time,  Gaston's  attention 
was  attracted  by  peals  of  laughter  from  a  party  at  the  other 
end  of  the  room. 

From  this  moment,  preoccupied  by  this  continual  laughter, 
of  which  he  was  evidently  the  subject,  he  knocked  the  balls 
carelessly  in  every  direction.  His  conduct  surprised  his  friend, 
who  said  to  him: 

"  What  is  the  matter?  You  are  missing  the  simplest 
shots." 

*'  It  is  nothing." 

The  game  went  on  awhile  longer,  when  Gaston  suddenly 
turned  as  white  as  a  sheet,  and,  throwing  down  his  cue,  strode 
toward  the  table  which  was  occupied  by  five  young  men,  play- 
ing dominoes  and  drinking  wine. 

He  addressed  the  eldest  of  the  group,  a  handsome  man  0/ 


FILE  2sro.   113.  155 

6wenty-six,  with  fierce-looking  eyes,  and  a  heavy  mustache, 
named  Jules  Lazet. 

"  Repeat,  if  you  dare,"  he  said,  in  a  voice  trembling  with 
passion,  "  the  remark  you  just  now  made!/' 

"  I  certainly  will  repeat  it,'*  said  Lazet,  calmly.  "  I  said, 
and  I  say  it  again,  that  a  nobleman's  daughter  is  no  better 
than  a  mechanic's  daughter;  that  virtue  does  not  always  ac- 
company a  titled  name. " 

"  You  mentioned  a  particular  name!" 

Lazet  rose  from  his  chair,  as  if  he  knew  his  answer  would 
tJxasperate  Gaston,  and  that  from  words  they  would  come  to 
blows. 

"  I  did,"  he  said,  with  an  insolent  smile;  "  I  mentioned  the 
name  of  the  pretty  little  fairy  of  La  Verberie." 

All  the  cotfee-drinkers,  and  even  two  traveling  agents  who 
were  dining  in  the  cafe,  rose  and  surrounded  the  two  young 
men. 

The  provoking  looks,  the  murmurs,  or  rather  shouts,  which 
welcomed  him  as  he  walked  up  to  Lazet,  proved  to  Gaston 
that  he  was  surrounded  by  enemies. 

The  wickedness  and  evil  tongue  of  the  old  marquis  were 
bearing  their  fruit.  Eancor  ferments  quickly  and  fiercely 
among  the  people  of  Provence. 

Gaston  de  Clameran  was  not  a  man  to  yield,  even  if  his  foes 
were  a  hundred,  instead  of  fifteen  or  twenty. 

*'  No  one  but  a  coward,"  he  said,  in  a  clear,  ringing  voice, 
which  the  pervading  silence  rendered  almost  startling,  "no 
one  but  a  contemptible  coward  would  be  infamous  enough  to 
calumniate  a  young  girl  who  has  neither  father  nor  brother  to 
defend  her  honor." 

"  If  she  has  no  father  or  brother,"  sneered  Lazet,  "  she  has 
her  lovers,  and  that  sufiices." 

The  insulting  words,  "her  lovers  "  enraged  Gaston  beyond 
control;  he  slapped  Lazet  violently  in  the  face. 

Every  one  in  the  cafe  simultaneously  uttered  a  cry  of  ter- 
ror. Lazet's  violence  of  character,  his  herculean  strength  and 
undaunted  courage  were  well  known.  He  sprung  across  the 
table  between,  and  seized  Gaston  by  the  throat.  Then  arose  a 
scene  of  excitement  and  confusion.  Clameran 's  friend,  at- 
tempting to  assist  him,  was  knocked  down  with  billiard-cues, 
and  kicked  under  a  table. 

Equally  strong  and  agile,  Gaston  and  Lazet  struggled  for 
some  minutes  without  either  gaining  an  advantage. 

Lazet,  as  loyal  as  he  was  courageous,  would  not  accepi'  a» 
fiistauce  from  his  friends.     He  continually  called  outi 


156  FILE    KO.    113. 

*'  Keep  away;  let  me  fight  it  cut  alone!'' 

But  the  others  were  too  excited  to  remain  inactive  spectators 
of  tlie  scene. 

"  A  quilt!"  cried  one  of  them,  **  a  quilt  to  maKe  the  mar- 
quis jump!'' 

Five  or  six  young  men  now  rushed  upon  Gaston,  and  separated 
him  from  Lazet.  Some  tried  to  throw  him  down,  others  to 
trip  him  up. 

He  defended  himself  with  the  energy  of  despair,  exhibiting 
in  his  furious  struggles  a  strength  of  which  he  himself  had  not 
been  conscious.  He  struck  right  and  left  as  he  showered  fierce 
epithets  upon  his  adversaries  for  being  twelve  against  one. 

He  was  endeavoring  to  get  around  the  billiard-table  so  as  to 
be  near  the  door,  and  had  almost  succeeded,  when  an  exultant 
cry  arose: 

"  Here  is  the  quilt!  the  quilt!"  they  cried. 

"  Put  him  in  the  quilt — the  pretty  fairy's  lover!" 

Gaston  heard  these  cries.  He  saw  himself  overcome,  and 
suffering  an  ignoble  outrage  at  the  hands  of  these  enraged 
men. 

By  a  dexterous  movement  he  extricated  himself  from  the 
grasp  of  the  three  who  were  holding  him,  and  felled  a  fourth  to 
the  ground. 

His  arms  were  free;  but  all  his  enemies  returned  to  the 
charge. 

Then  he  seemed  to  lose  his  head,  and,  seizing  a  knife  which 
lay  on  the  table  where  the  traveling  agents  had  been  dining, 
he  plunged  it  into  the  breast  of  the  first  man  who  rushed  upon 
him. 

This  unfortunate  man.  was  Jules  Lazet.  He  dropped  to  the 
ground. 

There  was  a  second  of  silent  stupor. 

Then  four  or  five  of  the  young  men  rushed  forward  to  raise 
Lazet.  The  landlady  ran  about  wringing  her  hands,  and 
screaming  with  fright.  Some  of  the  assailants  rushed  into  the 
street  shouting,  "  Murder!    Murder!" 

The  others  once  more  turned  upon  Gaston  with  cries  of 
*'  Vengeance!  kill  him!'* 

He  saw  that  he  was  lost.  His  enemies  had  seized  the  first 
objects  they  could  lay  their  hands  upon  and  he  received  several 
Tvounds.  He  jumped  upon  the  billiard-table,  and,  making  a 
rapid  spring,  dashed  through  the  large  window  of  the  cafe. 
He  was  fearfully  cut  by  the  broken  glass  and  splinters,  but  he 
was  free. 

Gaston  had  escaped,  but  he  was  not  yet  saved.    Astonished 


FILE    NO.    113.  157 

and  disconcerted  at  his  desperate  feat,  the  crowd  for  a  moment 
wore  stupefied;  but,  recovering  their  presence  of  mind,  they 
started  in  pursuit  of  liim. 

The  weather  was  bad,  the  ground  wet  and  muddy,  and  heavy 
dark  clouds  were  rolling  westward;  but  the  night  was  not  dark. 

Gaston  ran  on  from  tree  to  tree,  making  frequent  turnings, 
every  moment  on  the  point  of  being  seized  and  surrounded, 
and  asking  himself  what  course  he  should  take. 

Finally  he  determined,  if  possible,  to  regain  Clameran. 

With  incredible  rapidity  he  darted  diagonally  across  the  fair- 
ground, in  the  direction  of  the  levee  which  protected  the  valley 
of  Tarascon  from  inundations. 

Unfortunately,  upon  reaching  this  levee,  planted  with  mag- 
nificent trees  which  made  it  one  of  the  most  charming  walks 
of  Provence,  Gaston  forgot  that  the  entrance  was  closed  by  a 
gate  with  three  steps,  such  as  are  always  placed  before  walks 
intended  for  foot  passengers,  and  rushed  against  it  with  such 
violence  that  he  was  thrown  back  and  badly  bruised. 

He  quickly  sprung  up;  but  his  pursuer.?  were  upon  him. 

This  time  he  could  expect  no  mercy.  The  infuriated  men 
at  his  heels  yelled  that  fearful  cry  which  in  the  evil  days  of 
lawless  bloodshed  had  often  echoed  in  that  valley:  *'  In  the 
Ehone  with  him!    In  the  Ehone  with  the  marquis !'* 

His  reason  had  abandoned  him;  he  no  longer  knew  what  he 
did.  His  forehead  was  cut,  and  the  blood  trickled  from  the 
wound  into  his  eyes,  and  blinded  him. 

He  must  escape,  or  die  in  the  attempt. 

He  had  tightly  clasped  the  bloody  knife  with  which  he  had 
Bfcabbed  Lazet.  He  struck  his  nearest  foe;  the  man  fell  to  the 
ground  with  a  heavy  groan. 

A  second  blow  gained  him  a  moment's  respite,  which  gave 
him  time  to  open  the  gate  and  rush  along  the  levee. 

Two  men  were  kneeling  over  their  wounded  companion,  and 
five  others  resumed  the  pursuit. 

But  Gaston  flew  fast,  for  the  horror  of  his  situation  tripled 
his  energy;  excitement  deadened  the  pain  of  his  wounds;  with 
elbows  held  tight  to  his  sides,  and  holding  his  breath,  he  went 
along  at  such  a  speed  that  he  soon  distanced  his  pursuers;  the 
noise  of  their  feet  became  gradually  more  indistinct,  and  final- 
ly ceased. 

Gaston  ran  on  for  a  mile,  across  fields  and  over  hedges; 
fences  and  ditches  were  leaped  without  effort,  and  when  he 
knew  he  was  safe  from  capture  he  sunk  down  at  the  foot  of  s 
tree  to  rest. 

This  terrible  scene  had  taken  place  with  inconceivable  ra» 


158  PILE  NO.  113. 

pidity.  Only  forty  minutes  had  elapsed  since  Gaston  and  b!s 
friend  entered  the  cafe. 

But  during  this  short  time  how  much  has  happenedl  These 
forty  minutes  had  given  him  more  cause  for  sorrow  and  re- 
morse tlian  the  whole  of  his  previous  life  put  together. 

Entering  the  tavern  with  head  erect,  and  a  happy  heart, 
enjoying  present  existence  and  looking  forward  to  a  yet  better 
future,  he  left  it  ruined;  for  he  was  a  murderer!  Henceforth 
he  would  be  under  a  ban — an  outcast! 

He  had  killed  a  man,  and  still  convulsively  held  the  mur- 
derous instrument;  he  cast  it  from  him  with  horror. 

He  tried  to  account  for  the  dreadful  circumstances  which 
had  just  taken  place;  as  if  it  were  of  any  importance  to  a  man 
lying  at  the  bottom  of  an  abyss  to  know  which  stone  had 
slipped  and  precipitated  him  from  the  summit. 

Still,  if  he  alone  had  been  ruined!  But  Valentine  was 
dragged  down  with  him:  she  was  disgaced  yet  more  than  him- 
self; her  reputation  was  gone.  And  it  was  his  want  of  self- 
command  which  had  cast  to  the  wind  her  honor,  confided  to 
his  keeping,  and  which  he  held  far  dearer  than  his  own. 

But  he  could  not  remain  here  bewailing  his  misfortune.  The 
police  must  soon  be  on  his  track.  They  would  certainly  go  to 
the  Chateau  of  Clameran  to  seek  him;  and  before  leaving 
home,  perhaps  forever,  he  wished  to  say  good-bye  to  his  father, 
and  once  more  press  Valentine  to  his  heart. 

He  started  to  walk,  but  with  great  pain,  for  the  reaction  had 
come,  and  his  nerves  and  muscles,  so  violently  strained,  had 
now  begun  to  relax;  the  intense  heat  caused  by  his  struggling 
and  fast  running  was  replaced  by  a  cold  perspiration,  aching 
limbs,  and  chattering  teeth.  His  hip  and  shoulder  pained  him 
almost  beyond  endurance.  The  cut  on  his  forehead  had 
stopped  bleeding,  but  the  coagulated  blood  around  his  eyes 
bhnded  him. 

After  a  painful  walk  he  reached  his  door  at  ten  o'clock. 

The  old  valet  who  admitted  him  started  back  terrified. 

**  Good  heavens,  monsieur!  what  is  the  matter?" 

**  Silence!'*  said  Gaston,  in  the  brief  compressed  tone  always 
inspired  by  imminent  danger,  "  silence!  where  is  my  father?" 

"  Monsieur  the  Marquis  is  in  his  room  with  Monsieur  Louis. 
He  has  had  a  sudden  attack  of  the  gout,  and  can  not  put  his 
foot  to  the  ground;  but  you,  monsieur — " 

Gaston  did  not  stop  to  listen  further.  He  hurned  to  his 
father's  room. 

The  old  marquis,  who  was  claying  backgammon  with  Louis. 


FILE   NO.    113.  159 

dropped  his  dice-box  with  a  cry  of  horror,  when  he  looked  up 
and  saw  his  eldest  son  standing  before  hira  covered  with  blood. 

*'  What  is  the  matter?  what  have  you  been  doing,  Gaston?*' 

**  I  have  come  to  embrace  you  for  the  last  time,  father,  and 
to  ask  for  assistance  to  escape  abroad.** 

"  Do  you  wish  to  fly  the  country?'* 

**  I  must  fly,  father,  and  instantly;  I  am  pursued,  the  police 
may  be  here  at  any  moment;  I  have  killed  two  men.** 

The  marquis  was  so  shocked  that  he  forgot  the  gout,  and 
attempted  to  rise;  a  violent  twinge  made  him  drop  back  in  his 
chair. 

"  Where?  when?'*  he  gasped. 

"  At  Tarascon,  in  a  cafe,  an  hour  ago;  fifteen  men  attacked 
me,  and  I  seized  a  knife  to  defend  myself.** 

"  The  old  tricks  of  *93,**  said  the  marquis.  "  Did  they  in- 
sult you,  Gaston?     What  was  the  cause  of  the  attack?** 

"  They  insulted  in  my  presence  the  name  of  a  noble  young 
girl.*' 

"  And  you  punished  the  rascals?  Jarnilleu  !  You  did  well. 
Who  ever  heard  of  a  gentleman  allowing  insolent  puppies  to 
speak  disrespectfully  of  a  lady  of  quality  in  his  presence?  But 
who  was  the  lady  you  defended?'* 

"  Mademoiselle  Valentine  de  la  Verberie.** 

"  What!**  cried  the  marquis,  "  what!  the  daughter  of  that 
old  witch.  Those  accursed  De  la  Verberies  have  always 
brought  misfortune  upon  us. " 

He  certainly  abominated  the  countess;  but  his  respect  for 
her  noble  blood  was  greater  than  his  resentment  toward  her 
mdividually,  and  he  added: 

"  Nevertheless,  Gaston,  you  did  your  duty.** 

Meanwhile,  the  curiosity  of  St.  Jean,  the  marquis's  old 
Talet,  made  him  venture  to  open  the  door,  and  ask: 

*'  Did  Monsieur  the  Marquis  ring?" 

"  No,  you  rascal,**  answered  M.  de  Clameran;  *'  you  know 
very  well  I  did  not.  But  now  you  are  here,  be  useful.  Quick- 
ly bring  some  clothes  for  Monsieur  Gaston,  some  fresh  linen, 
and  some  warm  water:  hasten  and  dress  his  wounds.'* 

These  orders  were  promptly  executed,  and  Gaston  found  he 
was  not  so  badly  hurt  as  he  had  thought.  With  the  exception 
of  a  deep  stab  in  his  left  shoulder,  his  wounds  were  not  serious. 

After  receiving  all  the  attentions  which  his  condition  re- 
quired, Gaston  felt  like  a  new  man,  ready  to  brave  any  periL 
His  eyes  sparkled  with  renewed  energy  and  excitement. 

Th^  marquis  made  a  sign  to  th^  servants  to  leave  the  rooia, 


J  60  FILE    NO.    113. 

"  Do  you  still  think  you  ought  to  leave  France?"  h»  wlcoa 
Gaston. 

"Yes,  father." 

"  My  brother  ought  not  to  hesitate/'  interposed  Louis;  *'  ha 
will  be  arrested  here,  thrown  into  prison,  vilified  in  court,  and 
— who  knows?'* 

*'  We  all  know  well  enough  that  he  will  be  convicted," 
grumbled  the  old  marquis.  "  These  are  the  benefits  of  the 
immortal  revolution,  as  it  is  called.  Ah,  in  my  day  we  tliree 
would  have  taken  our  swords,  jumped  on  our  horses,  and, 
dashing  into  Tarascon,  would  soon  have —  But  those  good  old 
days  are  passed.     To-day  we  have  to  run  away." 

"  Tiiere  is  no  time  to  lose,"  observed  Louis. 

"  True,"  said  the  marquis,  "  but  to  fly,  to  go  abroad,  one 
must  have  money;  and  I  have  none  by  me  to  give  him." 

"  Father!" 

"  No,  I  have  none.  Ah,  what  a  prodigal  old  foolliiave 
t)een!    If  I  only  had  a  hundred  louis!" 

Then  he  told  Louis  to  open  the  secretary,  and  hand  him  the 
money-box. 

The  box  contained  only  nine  hundred  and  twenty  francs  in 
gold. 

"  Nine  hundred  and  twenty  francs,"  cried  the  marquis; 
*'  it  will  never  do  for  the  eldest  son  of  our  house  to  fly  the 
country  with  this  paltry  sum." 

He  sat  lost  in  reflection.  Suddenly  his  brow  cleared,  and 
he  told  Louis  to  open  a  secret  drawer  in  the  secretary,  and 
bring  him  a  small  casket. 

Then  the  marquis  took  from  his  neck  a  black  ribbon  to 
which  was  suspended  the  key  of  the  casket. 

His  sons  observed  with  what  deep  emotion  he  unlocked  it, 
and  slowly  took  out  a  necklace,  a  large  cross,  several  ringS/ 
and  other  pieces  of  jewelry. 

His  countenance  assumed  a  solemn  expression. 

"  Gaston,  my  dear  son,"  he  said,  "  at  a  time  like  this  youj 
life  may  depend  upon  bought  assistance;  money  is  power." 

*'  I  am  young,  father,  and  have  courage." 

**  Listen  to  me.  The  jewels  belonged  to  the  marc^uise,  your 
sainted  mother,  a  noble,  holy  woman,  who  is  now  m  heaven 
watching  over  us.  These  jewels  have  never  left  me.  During 
my  days  of  misery  and  want,  when  I  was  compelled  to  earn  a 
livelihood  by  teaching  music  in  London,  I  piously  treasured 
them.  I  never  thought  of  selling  them;  and  to  mortgage 
them,  in  the  hour  of  direst  need,  would  have  seemed  to  me  a 


FILE  Na  118.  161 

sacrilege.  Bnt  now  yon  must  take  them,  my  son,  and  sell 
tkem  for  twenty  thousand  livres.*' 

**  No,  father,  no;  I  can  not  take  them!*' 

"  You  must,  Gaston.  If  your  mother  were  on  earth,  she 
would  tell  you  to  take  them,  as  I  do  now.  I  command  you  to 
take  and  use  them.  The  salvation,  the  honor,  of  the  heir  of 
the  house  of  Clameran  must  not  be  imperiled  for  want  of  a 
little  gold.'' 

With  tearful  eyes  Gaston  sunk  on  his  knees,  and,  carrying 
his  father's  hand  to  his  lips,  said: 

"  Thanks,  father,  thanks!  In  my  heedless,  ungrateful 
presumption,  I  have  hitherto  misjudged  you.  I  did  not  know 
your  noble  character.  Forgive  me.  I  accept,  yes,  I  accept 
these  jewels  worn  by  my  dear  mother;  but  I  take  them  as  a 
sacred  deposit,  confided  to  my  honor,  and  for  which  I  will 
some  day  account  to  you.'' 

In  their  emotion,  the  marquis  and  Gaston  forgot  the  threat- 
ened danger.  But  Louis  was  not  touched  by  the  affecting 
scene. 

"  Time  presses,"  he  said:  '*  you  had  better  hasten." 

"  He  is  right,"  cried  the  marquis;  *'  go,  Gaston,  go,  m:j> 
eon;  and  God  protect  the  heir  of  the  Clamerans!" 

Gaston  slowly  got  up,  and  said  with  an  embarrassed  air: 

"  Before  leaving  you,  my  father,  I  must  fulfill  a  sacred 
duty.  I  have  not  told  you  everything.  I  love  Valentine,  tha 
young  girl  whose  honor  I  defended  this  evening. " 

*'  OhI"  cried  the  marquis,  thunder-struck,  "  oh,  oh!" 

"  And  I  entreat  you,  father,  to  ask  Madame  de  la  Verberie 
for  the  hand  of  her  daughter.  Valentine  will  gladly  join  me 
abroad  and  share  my  exile. " 

Gaston  stopped,  frightened  at  the  effect  of  his  words.  The 
old  marquis  had  become  crimson,  or  rather  purple  as  if  struck 
by  apoplexy. 

"Preposterous!"  he  gasped.  "Impossible!  Perfect 
foUv!" 

*  I  love  her,  father,  and  have  promised  never  to  marry 
finother." 

"  Then  always  remain  a  bachelor." 

*'  I  shall  marry  her!"  cried  Gaston,  excitedly.  **  I  shall 
marry  her  because  I  have  sworn  I  would,  and  I  will  not  be  se 
base  as  to  desert  her.  " 

"  Nonsense!" 

**  I  tell  you  Mademoiselle  de  la  Verberie  must  and  shall  be 
my  wife.  It  is  too  late  for  me  to  draw  back.  Even  if  I  no 
longer  loved  her,  I  would  stiii  marry  her,  because  she  haf 


163  FILE    IfO.    113. 

given  herself  to  me;  because,  can't  you  nnderstand? — what  waf 
said  at  the  cafe  to-night  was  true:  I  have  but  one  way  of  re- 
pairing tlie  wrong  I  have  done  Valentine — by  marrying  her." 

Gaston's  confession,  forced  from  him  by  circumstances,  pro- 
duced a  very  different  impression  from  that  which  he  had  ex- 
pected. The  enraged  marquis  instantly  became  cool,  and  hia 
mind  seemed  relieved  of  an  immense  weight.  A  wicked  joy 
sparkled  in  his  eyes,  as  he  replied: 

"Ah,  ha!  she  yielded  to  his  entreaties,  did  she?  Jarni- 
bleu!  I  am  delighted.  I  congratulate  you,  Gaston:  they  say 
she  is  a  pretty  little  fool." 

"  Monsieur,"  interrupted  Gaston,  indignantly,  "  I  have  told 
you  that  I  love  her,  and  have  promised  to  marry  her.  Yo» 
seem  to  forge  f 

"  Ta,  ta,  ta!'*  cried  the  marquis,  "  your  scruples  are  ab- 
surd. You  know  full  well  that  her  great-grandfather  led  our 
great-grandmother  astray.  Now  we  are  quits!  I  am  delight- 
ed at  the  retaliation,  for  the  old  witch's  sake.'' 

"  I  swear  by  the  memory  of  my  mother,  that  Valentine  shall 
b«  my  wife  I" 

*'  JDo  you  dare  assume  that  tone  toward  me?"  cried  the  ex-» 
asperated  marquis.  "  Never,  understand  me  clearly,  never 
will  I  give  my  consent.  You  know  how  dear  to  me  is  the 
honor  of  our  house.  Well,  I  would  rather  see  you  tried  for 
murder,  and  even  chained  to  the  galleys,  than  married  to  this 
worthless  jade!" 

This  last  word  was  too  much  for  Gaston. 

*'  Then  your  wish  shall  be  gratified,  monsieur.  I  will  re- 
main here,  and  be  arrested.  I  care  not  what  becomes  of  me! 
What  is  life  to  me  without  the  hope  of  Valentine?  Take  back 
these  jewels;  they  are  useless  now." 

A  terrible  scene  would  have  taken  place  between  the  father 
and  son,  had  they  not  been  interrupted  by  a  domestic  whc 
rushed  into  the  room,  and  excitedly  cried: 

"  The  gendarmes!  here  are  the  gendarmes!"  At  this  news 
the  old  mar(juis  started  up,  and  seemed  to  forget  his  gout, 
which  had  yielded  to  more  violent  emotions. 

"  Gendarmes!"  he  cried,  *'  in  my  house  at  Clameran!  They 
ehall  pay  dear  for  their  insolence!  You  will  help  me,  will  you 
not,  my  men?" 

*'  Yes,  yes,"  answered  the  servants.  "  Down  with  the 
gendarmes!  down  with  them!" 

Fortunately  Louis,  during  all  this  excitement,  preserved  his 
presence  of  mind. 

"  To  resist  would  be  folly,"  he  said.   "  Even  if  we  repulsed 


WLE    NO.    lia  163 

the  gendarmes  to-night,  they  would  return  to-morrow  with 
re-enforcements.  *' 

"Louis  is  right,"  said  the  marquis,  bitterly.  "Might  ii 
right,  as  they  said  in  '93.  The  gendarmes  are  all-powerful. 
Do  they  not  even  have  the  impertinence  to  come  up  to  me 
while  I  am  hunting,  and  ask  to  see  my  shooting-license?  I,  a 
Clameran,  show  a  license!'' 

"  Where  are  they?"  asked  Louis  of  the  servants. 

"At  the  outer  gate,"  answered  La  Verdure,  one  of  the 
grooms.  "  Does  not  monsieur  hear  the  noise  they  are  making 
with  their  sabers?" 

"  Then  Gaston  must  escape  over  the  garden  wall." 

"  It  is  guarded,  monsieur,"  said  La  Verdure,  "  and  the 
little  gate  in  the  park  besides.  There  seems  to  be  a  regiment 
of  them.     They  are  even  stationed  along  the  park  walls. " 

This  was  only  too  true.  The  rumor  of  Lazet's  death  had 
spread  like  wildfire  throughout  the  town  of  Tarascon,  and 
eveiybody  was  in  a  state  of  excitement.  Not  only  mounted 
gendarmes,  but  a  platoon  of  hussars  from  the  garrison,  had 
been  sent  in  pursuit  of  the  murderer. 

At  least  twenty  young  men  of  Tarascon  were  volunteer  guides 
to  the  armed  force. 

"  Then,"  said  the  marquis,  *'  we  are  surrounded?" 

**  Not  a  single  chance  for  escape,"  groaned  St.  Jean. 

"  We  shall  see  about  that.  Jarnihieu!"  cried  the  marqais. 
**  Ah,  we  are  not  the  strongest,  but  we  can  be  the  most  adroit. 
Attention!  Louis,  my  son,  you  and  La  Verdure  go  down  to 
the  stable,  and  mount  the  fastest  horses;  then,  as  quietly  as 
possible  station  yourselves,  you,  Louis,  at  the  park  gate,  and 
you.  La  Verdure,  at  the  outer  gate.  Let  each  of  you  others 
post  yourselves  at  a  door.  Upon  the  signal  I  shall  give  by  fir- 
uig  a  pistol,  let  every  door  be  instantly  opened,  whilst  Louis 
and  Verdure  dash  through  the  gates,  and  make  the  gendarmes 
pursue  them. " 

"  I  will  make  them  fly,"  said  La  Verdure. 

"  Listen.  During  this  time,  Gastcn,  aided  by  St.  Jean, 
will  scale  the  park  wall,  and  hasten  along  the  river  to  the 
cabin  of  Pilorel,  the  fisherman.  He  is  an  old  sailor  of  the 
republic,  and  devoted  to  our  house.  He  will  take  Gaston  in 
his  boat;  and  when  they  are  once  on  the  Rhone,  there  is  noth- 
ing to  be  feared  save  the  wrath  of  God.  Now  go,  all  of  you, 
fly!" 

Left  alone  with  his  son,  the  old  man  slipped  the  jewels  into 
a  silk  purse,  and,  handing  them  once  more  to  Gaston,  said,  as 
he  stretched  out  his  arms  toward  him: 


164  FILE    NO.     113. 

"  Come  here,  my  son,  and  let  me  embrace  you,  and  bestow 
my  blessing." 

Gaston  hesitated. 

"  Come,"  insisted  the  old  man,  in  broken  tones,  "  I  mnst 
embrace  you  for  the  last  time:  I  may  never  see  you  again. 
Save  yourself,  save  your  name,  Gaston,  and  then — you  know 
how  I  love  you,  my  son:  take  back  the  jewels.     Come." 

For  an  instant  the  father  and  son  clung  to  each  other,  over- 
powered by  emotion. 

But  the  continued  noise  of  the  gates  now  reached  their  ears. 

**  We  must  part!"  said  M.  de  Clameran,  "  go!"  And,  tak- 
ing from  his  desk  a  little  pair  of  pistols,  he  handed  them  to 
his  son,  and  added,  with  averted  eyes,  "  You  must  not  be 
captured  alive,  Gaston!" 

Gaston  did  not  immediately  descend  to  the  park. 

He  yearned  to  see  Valentine,  and  give  her  one  last  kiss  be- 
fore leaving  France,  and  determined  to  persuade  Pilorel  to 
stop  the  boat  as  they  went  by  the  park  <i  La  Verberie. 

He  hastened  to  his  room,  placed  the  signal  in  the  window  so 
that  Valentine  might  know  he  was  coming,  and  waited  for  art 
answering  light. 

*'  Come,  Monsieur  Gaston,"  entreated  old  St.  Jean,  wha 
could  not  understand  this  strange  conduct.  "  For  God's  sako 
make  haste!  your  life  is  at  stake!" 

At  last  he  came  running  down  the  stairs,  and  had  just 
reached  the  vestibule  when  a  pistol-shot,  the  signal  given  by 
the  marquis,  was  heard. 

The  loud  swinging  open  of  the  large  gate,  the  rattling  of 
the  sabers  of  the  gendarmes,  the  furious  galloping  of  many 
horses,  and  a  chorus  of  loud  shouts  and  angry  oaths,  were 
next  heard. 

Leaning  against  the  window,  his  brow  beaded  with  cold  per- 
spiration, the  Marquis  of  Clameran  breathlessly  awaited  the 
issue  of  this  expedient,  upon  which  depended  the  life  of  the 
eldest  son. 

His  measures  were  excellent,  and  deserved  success.  As  he 
had  ordered,  Louis  and  La  Verdure  dashed  out  through  the 
gate,  one  to  the  right,  the  other  to  the  left,  each  one  pursued 
by  a  dozen  mounted  men.  Their  horses  flew  like  arrows,  and 
kept  far  ahead  of  the  pursuers. 

Gaston  would  have  been  saved,  but  for  the  interference  of 
fate;  but  was  it  fate,  or  was  it  malice? 

Suddenly  Louis's  horse  stumbled,  and  fell  to  the  ground 
with  his  rider.  The  gendarmes  rode  up,  and  at  once  recog- 
nized the  second  son  of  M.  de  Clameran. 


PILE   NO.   113.  165 

**  This  is  not  the  assassin!"  they  cried.  "  Let  us  hurry 
back,  else  he  will  escape !*' 

They  turned  just  in  time  to  see,  by  the  uncertain  light  of 
the  moon  peeping  from  behind  a  cloud,  Gaston  climbiug  the 
garden  wall. 

*'  There  is  our  inan!'*  exclaimed  the  corporal.  "  Keep  your 
eyes  open,  and  follow  after  him!'' 

They  spurred  their  horses,  and  hastened  to  the  spot  where 
Gaston  had  jumped  from  the  wall. 

In  a  wooded  piece  of  ground,  even  if  it  be  hilly,  an  agile 
man,  if  he  preserves  his  presence  of  mind,  can  escape  a  num- 
ber of  horsemen.  The  ground  on  this  side  of  the  park  was 
favorable  to  Gaston.  He  found  himself  in  an  immense  mad- 
der-field; and,  as  is  well  known,  as  this  valuable  root  must  re- 
main in  the  ground  three  years,  the  furrows  are  necessarily 
plowed  very  deep.  Horses  can  not  even  walk  over  its  uneven 
surface;  indeed,  they  can  scarcely  stand  steadily  upon  it. 
This  circumstance  brought  the  gendarmes  to  a  dead  halt. 
Four  rash  hussars  ventured  in  the  field,  but  they  and  their 
bftasts  were  soon  rolling  between  the  hillocks. 

Jumping  from  ridge  to  ridge,  Gaston  soon  reached  a  large 
field,  freshly  plowed,  and  planted  with  young  chestnuts. 

As  his  chances  of  escape  increased,  the  excitement  grew 
'  more  intense.     The  pursuers  urged  each  other  on  and  called 
out  to  head  him  off,  every  time  they  saw  Gaston  run  from  one 
clump  of  trees  to  another. 

Being  familiar  with  the  country  young  De  Clameran  was 
confident  of  eluding  his  pursuers.  He  knew  that  the  next  field 
was  a  thistle-field,  and  was  separated  from  the  chestnuts  by  a 
long,  deep  ditch. 

He  resolved  to  jump  into  this  ditch,  run  along  the  bottom, 
and  climb  out  at  tlie  farther  end,  while  they  were  looking  for 
him  among  the  trees. 

But  he  had  forgotten  the  swelling  of  the  river.  Upon 
reaching  the  ditch  he  found  it  full  of  water 

Discouraged  but  not  disconcerted,  he  was  about  to  jump 
across,  when  three  horsemen  appeared  upon  the  opposite  side. 
They  were  gendarmes  who  had  ridden  around  the  madder- 
field  and  chestnut-trees,  knowing  they  could  easily  catch  him 
on  the  level  ground  of  the  thistle-field. 
At  the  sight  of  these  three  men,  Gaston  stood  perplexed. 
He  should  certainly  be  captured  if  he  attempted  to  run 
through  the  field,  at  the  end  of  which  he  could  see  the  cabia 
of  Pilorel  the  ferryman. 
To  retrace  his  steps  would  be  surrendering  to  the  hussars. 


166  FILE    NO.    113. 

At  a  little  distance  on  his  right  was  a  forest,  but  he  waa 
wparated  from  it  by  a  road  upon  which  he  heard  the  sound  of 
approaching  horses.     He  would  certainly  be  caught  there. 

Foes  in  front  of  him,  foes  behind  him,  foes  on  the  right  of 
him.     What  was  on  the  Isft? 

On  his  left  was  the  foaming,  surging  river. 
■  What  hope  was  left?    The  circle  of  which  he  was  the  cen- 
ter was  fast  narrowing. 

Must  he,  then,  fall  back  upon  suicide?  Here  in  an  open 
field,  tracked  by  police  like  a  wild  beast,  must  he  blow  hii 
brains  out?     What  a  death  for  a  De  Clameran! 

No!  he  would  seize  the  one  chance  of  salvation  left  him; 
a  forlorn,  desperate,  perilous  chance,  but  still  a  chance — the 
river. 

Holding  a  pistol  in  either  hand,  he  ran  and  leaped  upon 
the  edge  of  a  little  promontory,  projecting  three  yards  into  the 
Khone. 

Tliis  cape  of  refuge  was  formed  by  the  immense  trunk  of  a 
fallen  tree. 

The  tree  swayed  and  cracked  fearfully  under  Gaston's 
weight,  as  he  stood  on  the  extreme  end,  and  looked  around 
upon  his  pursuers;  there  were  fifteen  of  them,  some  on  the 
right,  some  on  the  left,  all  uttering  cries  of  joy. 

*'  Do  you  surrender?'*  called  i)ut  the  corporal. 

Gaston  did  not  answer,  he  was  weighing  his  chances.  He 
was  above  the  park  of  La  Verberie:  would  he  be  able  to  swim 
there,  granting  that  he  was  not  swept  away  and  drowned  the 
instant  he  plunged  into  the  angry  torrent  before  him? 

He  pictured  Valentine,  at  this  very  moment,  watching,  wait- 
ing, and  praying  for  him  on  the  opposite  shore. 

"  For  the  last  time  I  command  you  to  surrender!"  cried  the 
corporal. 

The  unfortunate  man  did  not  hear;  he  was  deafened  by  the 
waters  which  were  roaring  and  rushing  around  him. 

In  a  supreme  moment  like  this,  with  his  foot  upon  the 
threshold  of  another  world,  a  man  sees  his  past  life  rise  before 
him,  and  seldom  does  he  find  cause  for  self-approval. 

Although  death  stared  him  in  face,  Gaston  calmly  con- 
sidered which  would  be  the  best  spot  to  plunge  into,  and  com- 
mended his  soul  to  God. 

"  He  will  stand  there  until  we  go  after  him,"  said  a  gen- 
darme, "so  we  might  as  well  advance." 

Gaston  had  finished  his  prayer. 

He  •  flung  his  pistols  in  the  direction  of  the  gendarmes;  he 
^as  ready. 


FILE    NO.    113;  16! 

He  made  the  sign  of  the  cross,  then,  -with  outstretched  arms, 
dashed  head  foremost  into  the  Ehone. 

The  violence  of  his  spring  detached  the  few  remaining  roota 
of  the  old  tree;  it  oscillated  a  moment,  whirled  over,  and  then 
drifted  away. 

The  spectators  uttered  a  cry  of  horror  and  pity;  anger 
seemed  to  have  deserted  them  in  their  turn. 

"  That  is  the  end  of  him,''  muttered  one  of  the  gendarmes. 
"  It  is  useless  for  one  to  fight  against  the  Rhone:  his  body  will 
be  picked  up  at  Aries  to-morrow. " 

The  hussars  seemed  really  remorseful  at  the  tragic  fate  of 
this  brave,  handsome  young  man,  who,  a  moment  before,  they 
had  pursued  with  so  much  bitter  zeal.  They  admired  hi? 
spirited  resistance,  his  courage,  and  especially  his  resignation, 
his  resolution  to  die. 

True  French  soldiers,  their  sympathies  were  now  all  upon 
the  side  of  the  vanquished,  and  every  man  of  them  would  have 
done  all  in  his  power  to  assist  in  saving  the  drowning  man 
and  aiding  his  escape. 

"  An  ugly  piece  of  work."'  grumbled  the  old  quarter-master 
who  had  command  of  the  hussars. 

"  Basta!"  exclaimed  the  philosophic  corporal,  "  the  Rhone 
is  no  worse  than  the  court  of  assizes;  the  result  would  be  the 
same.  Right  about,  men;  march!  The  thing  that  troubles 
me  is  the  idea  of  that  poor  old  man  waiting  to  hear  his  son's 
fate.  I  would  not  be  the  one  to  tell  him  what  nas  happened. 
March!" 


CHAPTER  Xni. 

Valenttke  knew,  that  fatal  evening,  that  Gaston  v/ould 
have  to  walk  to  Tarascon,  to  cross  the  bridge  over  the  Rhone 
which  connected  Tarascon  with  Beaucaire,  and  did  not  expect 
to  see  him  until  eleven  o'clock,  the  hour  which  they  had  fixed 
upon  the  previous  evening. 

But  happening  to  look  up  at  the  windows  of  Clameran,  sne 
saw  lights  hurrying  to  and  fro  in  an  unusual  manner,  even  in 
rooms  that  she  knew  to  be  unoccupied. 

A  presentiment  of  impending  misfortune  chilled  her  blood 
and  stopped  the  beatings  of  her  heart. 

A  secret  and  imperious  voice  within  told  her  that  something 
extraordinary  was  going  on  at  the  Chateau  of  Clameran. 

What  was  it?  She  could  not  imagine;  but  she  knew,  sba 
felt,  that  some  dreadful  misfortune  had  happened. 

With  her  eyes  fastened  upon  the  dark  mass  of  stone  loominjg 


168  FILE    NO.    113." 

in  the  distance,  she  watched  the  going  and  coming  of  th« 
lights,  as  if  their  movements  would  give  her  a  clew  to  what 
was  taking  place  within  those  walls. 

She  raised  her  window  and  tried  to  listen,  fancying  she  could 
hear  an  unusual  sound,  even  at  such  a  distance.  Alas!  sho 
heard  nothing  but  the  rushing  roar  of  the  augry  river. 

Her  anxiety  grew  more  insufferable  every  moment;  and  she 
felt  as  if  she  would  faint  were  this  torturing  suspense  to  last 
much  longer,  when  the  well-known,  beloved  signal  appeared 
suddenly  in  Gaston^s  window,  and  told  her  that  her  lover  was 
about  to  swim  across  the  Ehone. 

She  could  scarcely  believe  her  eyes;  she  must  be  under  the 
influence  of  a  dream;  her  amazement  prevented  her  answering 
the  signal  until  it  had  been  repeated  three  times. 

Then,  more  dead  than  alive,  with  trembling  limbs  she  has- 
tened along  the  park  to  the  river  bank. 

Never  had  she  seen  the  Rhone  so  furious.  Since  Gaston  waa 
risking  his  life  in  order  to  see.  her,  she  could  no  longer  doubt 
that  something  fearful  had  occurred  at  Clameran. 

She  fell  on  her  knees,  and  with  clasped  hands,  and  her  wild 
eyes  fixed  upon  the  dark  waters,  besought  the  pitiless  waves 
to  yield  up  her  dear  Gaston. 

Every  dark  object  which  she  could  distinguish  floating  in 
the  middle  of  the  torrent  assumed  the  shape  of  a  human  form. 

At  one  time,  she  thought  she  heard,  above  the  roaring  of 
the  water,  the  terrible,  agonized  cry  of  a  drowning  man. 

She  watched  and  prayed,  but  her  lover  came  not. 

Still  she  waited. 

While  the  gendarmes  and  hussars  slowly  and  silently  re- 
turned to  the  Chdteau  of  Clameran,  Gaston  experienced  one  of 
those  miracles  which  would  seem  incredible  were  they  not  con- 
firmed by  the  most  convincing  proof. 

When  he  first  plunged  into  the  river  he  rolled  over  five  or 
six  times,  and  was  then  drawn  toward  the  bottom.  In  a  swelled 
river  the  current  is  unequal,  being  much  stronger  in  some 
places  than  in  others,  hence  the  great  danger. 

Gaston  knew  it,  and  guarded  against  it.  Instead  of  wasting 
his  strength  in  vain  struggles,  he  held  his  breath  and  kept 
still.  About  twenty-five  yards  from  the  spot  where  he  had 
plunged  in,  he  made  a  violent  spring,  which  brought  him  to 
the  surface. 

Rapidly  drifting  by  him  was  the  old  tree. 

For  an  instant,  he  was  entangled  in  the  mass  of  weeds  and 
debris  which  clung  to  its  roots,  and  followed  in  its  wake;  ao 


vtm  NO.  113.  IdO 

cddj  set  him  free.  The  tree  and  its  clinging  weeds  swept  on. 
It  was  the  last  familiar  friend,  gone. 

Gaston  dared  not  attempt  to  reach  the  opposite  shore.  He 
would  have  to  land  where  the  waves  dashed  him. 

With  great  presence  of  mind  he  put  forth  all  his  strength 
and  dexterity  to  slowly  take  an  oblique  course,  knowing  well 
that  there  was  no  hope  for  him  if  the  current  took  him  cross- 
wise. 

This  fearful  current  is  as  capricious  as  a  woman,  which  ac- 
counts for  the  strange  effects  of  inundations;  sometimes  it 
rushes  to  the  right,  sometimes  to  the  left,  sparing  one  shore 
and  ravaging  the  other. 

Gaston  was  familiar  with  every  turn  of  the  river;  he  knew 
that  just  below  Clameran  was  an  abrupt  turning,  and  relied 
upon  the  eddy  formed  thereby  to  sweep  him  in  the  direction 
of  La  Verberie. 

His  hopes  were  not  deceived.  An  oblique  current  suddenly 
swept  him  toward  the  right  shore,  and,  if  he  had  not  been  on 
his  guard,  would  have  sunk  him. 

But  the  eddy  did  not  reach  as  far  as  Gaston  supposed,  and 
he  was  still  some  distance  from  the  shore,  when,  with  the 
rapidity  of  lightning,  he  was  swept  by  the  park  of  La  Verberie. 
As  he  floated  by,  he  caught  a  glimpse  of  a  white  shadow  among 
the  trees;  Valentine  still  waited  for  him. 

He  was  gradually  approaching  the  bank,  as  he  reached  the 
end  of  La  Verberie,  and  attempted  to  land. 

Feeling  a  foothold,  he  stood  up  twice,  and  each  time  was 
thrown  down  by  the  violence  of  the  waves.  He  escaped  being 
swept  away  by  seizing  some  willow  branches,  and,  clinging  to 
them,  raised  himself,  and  climbed  up  the  steep  bank. 

He  was  safe  at  last. 

Without  taking  time  to  breathe,  he  darted  in  the  direction 
\of  the  park. 

He  came  just  in  time.  Overcome  by  the  intensity  of  her 
emotions,  Valentine  had  fainted,  and  lay  apparently  lifeless  on 
the  damp  river  bank. 

Gaston's  entreaties  and  kisses  aroused  her  from  her  stupor. 

"  Gaston!"  she  cried,  in  a  tone  that  revealed  all  the  love  she 
felt  for  him.  "Is  it  indeed  you?  Then  God  heard  my 
prayers,  and  had  pity  upon  us. " 

*'  No,  Valentine,"  he  murmured;  **  God  has  had  no  pity." 

The  sad  tones  of  Gaston's  voice  convinced  her  that  her  pre- 
sentiment of  evil  was  true. 

**  What  new  misfortune  strikes  us  now?'*  she  cried.    *'  Whjf 


J70  FILE    NO.    118. 

have  you  thus  risked  your  life-^a  life  far  dearer  to  me  tlMi 
my  own?     What  has  happened?** 

"  This  is  what  has  happened,  Valentine;  our  love  affair  ia 
the  jest  of  the  country  around;  our  secret  is  a  secret  no 
longer.  *  * 

She  shrunk  back,  and,  burying  her  face  in  her  hands, 
moaned  piteously. 

"  This,**  said  Gaston,  forgetting  everything  but  his  present 
misery,  "  tliis  is  the  result  of  the  blind  enmity  of  our  families. 
Our  noble  and  pure  love,  which  ought  to  be  a  glory  in  the  eyes 
of  God  and  man.  has  to  be  concealed,  and,  when  discovered, 
becomes  a  reproach,  as  though  it  were  some  evil  deed." 

"  Then  all  is  known — all  is  discovered!'*  murmured  Valen- 
tine.    "  Oh!  Gaston,  Gaston!** 

While  struggling  for  his  life  against  furious  men  and  angry 
elements,  Gaston  had  preserved  his  self-possession;  but  the 
heart-broken  tone  of  his  beloved  Valentine  overcame  him.  He 
swung  his  arms  above  his  head,  and  exclaimed: 

*'  Yes,  they  know  it;  and  oh,  why  could  I  not  crush  the  vil- 
lains for  daring  to  utter  your  adored  name?  Ah,  why  did  I 
only  kill  two  of  the  scoundrels?** 

"  Have  you  killed  some  one,  Gaston?*' 

Valentine*s  tone  of  horror  gave  Gaston  a  ray  of  reason. 

"  Yes,**  he  replied,  with  bitterness;  "  I  have  killed  two 
men.  It  was  for  that  that  I  have  crossed  the  Rhone.  I  could 
not  have  my  father*s  name  disgraced  by  being  tried  and  con- 
victed for  murder.  I  have  been  tracked  like  a  wild  beast  by 
mounted  police.  I  have  escaped  them,  and  now  I  am  flying 
my  country.** 

Valentine  struggled  to  preserve  her  composure  under  this 
last  unexpected  blow. 

"  Where  do  you  hope  to  find  an  asylum?**  she  asked. 

"  I  know  not.  Where  am  I  to  go,  what  will  become  of  me, 
God  only  knows!  I  only  know  that  I  am  going  to  some  strange 
land,  to  assume  a  false  name  and  disguise.  I  shall  seek  some 
lawless  country  which  offers  a  refuge  I")  murderers.** 

Gaston  waited  for  an  answer  to  this  speech.  None  came, 
and  he  resumed  his  vehemence: 

"And  before  disappearing,  Valentine,  I  wished  to  see  you, 
because,  now,  when  I  am  abandoned  by  every  one  else,  I  have 
relied  upon  you,  and  have  faith  in  your  love.  A  tie  Unites  us, 
my  darling,  stronger  and  more  indissoluble  than  all  earthly 
ties—  the  tie  of  love.  I  love  you  more  than  life  itself,  my 
Valentine!  before  God  you  are  my  wife;  I  am  yours  and  you 
are  mine,  forever  and  ever!    Would  you  let  me  fly  alone. 


FILE    N-0.    113.  '  171 

Valentine?  To  the  pain  and  toil  of  exile,  to  the  sharp  regretf 
of  a  ruined  life,  would  you,  could  you,  add  the  torture  of  sepa* 
ration?" 

"  Gaston,  I  implore  you — " 

"  Ah,  I  knew  it,^'  he  interrupted,  mistaking  the  sense  of 
her  exclamation;  "  I  knew  you  would  not  let  me  go  off  alone. 
T  knew  your  sympathetic  heart  would  long  to  share  the  burden 
of  my  miseries.  This  moment  effaces  the  wretched  suffering 
I  have  endured.  Let  us  go!  Having  our  happiness  to  defendjj 
having  you  to  protect,  I  fear  nothing;  I  can  brave  all,  con^ 
quer  all.  Come,  my  Valentine,  we  will  escape,  or  die  together! 
This  is  the  long-dreamed  of  happiness!  The  glorious  future 
of  love  and  liberty  opens  before  us!'' 

He  had  worked  himself  into  a  state  of  delirious  excitement- 
He  seized  Valentine  around  the  waist,  and  tried  to  draw  her 
toward  the  gate. 

As  Gaston's  exaltation  increased,  Valentine  became  com- 
posed and  almost  stolid  in  her  forced  calmness. 

Gently,  but  with  a  quiet  firmness,  she  withdrew  herself  from 
his  embrace,  and  said,  sadly,  but  resolutely: 

"  What  you  wish  is  impossible,  Gaston.'' 

This  cold,  inexplicable  resistance  confounded  her  lover. 

*' Impossible!     Why,  Valentine — " 

**  You  know  me  well  enough,  Gaston,  to  be  convinced  that 
sharing  the  greatest  hardships'with  you  would  to  me  be  the 
height  of  happiness.  But  above  the  tones  of  your  voice  to 
which  I  fain  would  yield,  above  the  voice  of  my  own  heart 
which  urges  me  to  follow  the  one  being  upon  whom  all  its 
affections  are  centered,  there  is  another  voice — a  powerful, 
imperious  voice — which  bids  me  stay;  the  voice  of  duty." 

What!  Would  you  think  of  remaining  here  after  the  hor- 
rible affair  of  to-night,  after  the  scandal  that  will  be  spread  to- 
morrow?" 

*'  What  do  you  mean?  That  I  am  lost,  dishonored?  Am  I 
any  more  so  to-day  than  I  was  yesterday?  Do  you  think  that 
the  jeers  and  scoffs  of  the  world  could  make  me  suffer  more 
than  do  the  pangs  of  my  guilty  conscience?  I  have  long  since 
passed  judgment  upon  myself,  Gaston;  and,  although  the 
sound  of  your  voice  and  the  touch  of  your  hand  would  make 
me  forget  all  save  the  bliss  of  your  love,  no  sooner  were  you 
away  than  I  would  weep  tears  of  shame  and  remorse." 

Gaston  listened  immovable,  stupefied.  He  seemed  to  see  a 
new  Valentine  standing  before  him,  an  entirely  different  wom- 
an from  the  one  whose  tender  soul  he  thought  he  knew  so  well. 
"  Your  mother,  what  wiU  she  fiarii'  He  asked. 


173  FILE    SO.    113. 

**  It  18  my  duty  to  her  that  keeps  me  here.  Do  you  wish  me 
to  prove  an  unnatural  daughter,  and  desert  a  poor,  lonely, 
friendless  old  woman  who  has  nothing  but  me  to  cling  to? 
Could  I  abandon  her  to  follow  a  lover?" 

"  But  our  enemies  will  inform  her  of  everything,  Valentine, 
and  thinic  how  she  will  make  you  suffer!" 

"  No  matter.  The  dictates  of  conscience  must  be  obeyed. 
Ah,  why  can  I  not,  at  the  price  of  my  life,  spare  her  the 
agony  of  hearing  that  her  only  daughter,  her  Valentine,  has 
disgraced  her  name?  She  may  be  hard,  cruel,  pitiless  toward 
me;  but  have  I  not  deserved  it?  Oh,  my  only  friend,  we  have 
been  reveling  in  a  dream  too  beautiful  to  last!  I  have  long 
dreaded  this  awakening.  Like  two  weak,  credulous  fools  wt* 
imagined  that  happiness  could  exist  beyond  the  pale  of  duty. 
Sooner  or  later  stolen  joys  must  be  dearly  paid  for.  After  th& 
sweet  comes  the  bitter;  we  must  bow  our  heads,  and  drink  the 
cup  to  the  dregs. " 

This  cold  reasoning,  this  sad  resignation,  was  more  than 
the  fiery  nature  of  Gaston  could  bear. 

"  You  shall  not  talk  thus!"  he  cried.  "  Can  you  not  feel 
that  the  bare  idea  of  your  suffering  humihation  drives  me 
mad?" 

'*  Alas!  I  see  nothing  but  disgrace,  the  most  fearful  dis- 
grace, staring  me  in  the  face.'* 

*'  What  do  you  mean,  Valentine?" 

*'  I  have  told  you,  Gaston,  I  am — " 

Here  she  stopped,  hesitated,  and  then  added: 

"  Nothing!    I  am  a  fool. " 

Had  Gaston  been  less  excited,  he  would  have  suspected  some 
new  misfortune  beneath  this  reticence  of  Valentine;  but  his 
mind  was  too  full  of  one  idea — that  of  possessing  her. 

*'  All  hope  is  not  lost,'*  he  continued.  "  My  father  is  kind- 
hearted,  and  was  touched  by  my  love  and  despair.  I  am  sure 
that  my  letters,  added  to  the  intercession  of  my  brother  Louis, 
will  induce  him  to  ask  Madame  de  la  Verberie  for  your  hand." 

This  proposition  seemed  to  frighten  Valentine. 

"Heaven  forbid  that  the  maniuis  should  take  this  rash 
step!" 

'*  Why,  Valentine?" 

"  Because  my  mother  would  reject  his  offer;  because,  I 
must  confess  it. now,  she  has  sworn  I  shall  marry  none  but  a 
rich  man;  and  your  father  is  not  rich,  Gaston,  so  you  will  hav« 
very  little. " 

"  Good  heavens!"  cried  Gaston,  with  disgust,  "  is  it  to  such 
an  unuatarai  mother  that  jxtu  sacrifice  me?" 


PILE    KO.    Ho.  173 

**  She  is  my  mother;  that  is  sufficient.  I  have  not  the  right 
to  judge  her.  My  duty  is  to  remain  with  her,  and  remain  i 
shall.'' 

Valentine's  manner  showed  such  determined  resolution  thai 
Gaston  saw  that  further  prayers  would  be  in  vain. 

*'  Alas!"  he  cried,  as  he  wrung  his  hands  with  despair,  '*  yoa 
,  do  not  love  me;  you  have  never  loved  me!" 

"Gaston,  Gaston!  you  do  not  think  what  you  say!  Have 
you  no  mercy?" 

"  If  you  loved  me,"  he  cried,  "  you  could  never,  at  this  mo- 
ment of  separation,  have  the  cruel  courage  to  coldly  reason 
and  calculate.  Ah,  far  different  is  my  love  for  you.  With- 
out you  the  world  is  void ;  to  lose  you  is  to  die.  What  have  I 
to  live  for?  Let  the  Ehone  take  back  this  worthless  life,  so 
miraculously  saved;  it  is  now  a  burden  to  me!" 

And  he  rushed  toward  the  river,  determined  to  bury  his  sor- 
row beneath  its  waves;  Valentine  seized  his  arm,  and  held  him 
back. 

*'  Is  this  the  way  to  show  your  love  for  me?"  she  asked. 

Gaston  was  absolutely  discouraged. 

'*  What  is  the  use  of  living?"  he  said,  dejectedly.  *'  What 
is  left  to  me  now?" 

"  God  is  left  to  us,  Gaston;  and  in  His  hands  lies  our  fut- 
ure." 

As  a  shipwrecked  man  seizes  a  rotten  plank  in  his  despera- 
tion, so  Gaston  eagerly  caught  at  the  word  "future,"  as  a 
beacon  in  the  gloomy  darkness  surrounding  him. 

"  Your  commands  shall  be  obeyed,"  he  cried,  with  enthu- 
siasm. "  Away  with  weakness!  Yes,  I  will  live,  and  strug- 
gle, and  triumph.  Madame  de  la  Verberie  wants  gold;  well, 
she  shall  have  it;  in  three  years  I  will  be  rich,  or  I  shall  be 
dead." 

With  clasped  hands  Valentine  thanked  Heaven  for  this  sud- 
den determination,  which  was  more  than  she  dared  hope  for. 

*'  But,"  said  Gaston,  "  befbre  going  away  I  wish  to  confide 
to  you  a  sacred  deposit. " 

He  drew  from  his  pocket  the  purse  of  jewels,  and,  handing 
them  to  Valentine,  added: 

"  These  jewels  belonged  to  my  poor  mother;  you,  my  angel, 
are  alone  worthy  of  wearing  them.  I  thought  of  you  when  I 
accepted  them  from  my  father.  I  felt  that  you,  as  my  affianced 
wife,  were  the  proper  person  to  have  them. 

Valentine  refused  to  accept  them. 

*'  Take  them,  my  darling,  as  a  pledge  of  my  return.  If  1 
do  not  eoDQe  back  within  three  years,  you  may  know  that  I  am 


Vf4  FILE    NO.    113. 

dead,  and  then  you  must  keep  them  as  a  souvenir  of  him  whi 
BO  much  loved  you. " 

She  burst  into  tears,  and  took  the  purse. 

*'  And  now/'  said  Gaston,  "  I  have  a  last  request  to  make. 
Everybody  believes  me  dead,  but  I  can  not  let  my  poor  fathei 
labor  under  this  impression.  Swear  to  me  that  you  will  ga 
yourself  to-morrow  morning  and  tell  him.  that  I  am  still 
alive. " 

"  I  will  tell  him  myself,*'  she  said. 

Gaston  felt  that  he  must  now  tear  himself  away  before  his 
courage  failed  him;  each  moment  he  was  more  loath  to  leave 
the  only  being  who  bound  him  to  this  world;  he  enveloped 
Valentine  in  a  last  fond  embrace  and  started  up. 

'*  What  is  your  plan  of  escape?"  she  asked. 

"  I  shall  go  to  Marseilles,  and  hide  in  a  friend's  house  untU 
I  can  procure  passage  to  America." 

*'  You  must  have  assistancs;  1  will  secure  you  a  guide  in 
whom  I  have  unbounded  confidence:  old  Menoul,  the  ferry- 
man, who  lives  near  us.  He  owns  the  boat  which  he  plies  on 
the  Rhone. " 

The  lovers  passed  through  the  little  park  gate,  of  which 
Gaston  had  the  key,  and  soon  reached  the  boatman's  cabin. 

He  was  asleep  in  an  easy-chair  by  the  fire.  When  Valentine 
stood  before  him  with  Gaston,  the  old  man  jumped  up,  and 
kept  rubbing  his  eyes,  thinking  it  must  be  a  dream. 

"  Pere  Menoul,"  said  Valentine,  "  Monsieur  Gaston  is  com- 
pelled  to  fly  the  country;  he  wants  to  be  rowed  out  to  sea,  so 
that  he  can  secretly  embark.  Can  you  take  him  in  your  boat 
as  far  as  the  mouth  of  the  Rhone?" 

"  It  is  impossible,"  said  the  old  man,  shaking  his  head:  "  I 
would  not  dare  venture  on  the  river  in  its  present  state." 

"  But,  P^re  Menoul,  it  would  be  of  immense  service  to  me; 
would  you  not  venture  for  my  sake?" 

"  For  your  sake?  Certainly  I  would.  Mademoiselle  Valen- 
tine; I  will  do  anything  to  gratify  you.     I  am  ready  to  start." 

He  looked  at  Gaston,  and,  seeing  his  clothes  wet  and  covered 
with  mud,  said  to  him: 

'*  Allow  me  to  offer  you  my  dead  -son's  clothes,  monsieur; 
they  will  serve  as  a  disguise;  come  this  way." 

In  a  few  minutes  Pere  Menoul  returned  with  Gaston,  whom 
no  one  would  have  recognized  in  his  sailor  dress. 

Valentine  went  down  with  them  to  the  place  where  the  boat 
was  moored.  While  the  old  man  was  unfastening  it,  the  dis- 
CQusolate  lovers  tearfully  eoabraced  each  other  lor  the  last 
kim«^ 


FILE    NO.    113.  175 

"  In  three  years,  my  own  Valentine;  promise  to  wait  three 
years  for  me!    If  alive,  I  will  then  see  you/* 

"Adieu,  mademoiselle,'*  interrupted  the  boatman;  "and 
you,  monsieur,  hold  fast  and  keep  steady.** 

Then  with  a  vigorous  stroke  of  the  boat-hook  he  sent  the 
bark  into  the  middle  of  the  stream. 

Three  days  lafer,  thanks  to  the  assistance  of  P^re  Menoul, 
Gaston  was  concealed  on  the  three-masted  American  vessel, 
"  Tom  Jones,**  which  was  to  start  the  next  day  for  Valparaiso. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

Cold  and  white  as  a  marble  statue,  Valentine  stood  on  the 
bank  of  the  river,  watching  the  frail  bark  which  was  carrying 
her  lover  away.  It  flew  along  the  Ehone  like  a  bird  in  a  tem- 
pest, and  after  a  few  seconds  appeared  like  a  black  speck  in 
the  midst  of  a  heavy  fog  which  floated  over  the  water,  then 
Was  lost  to  view. 

Now  that  Gaston  was  gone,  Valentine  had  no  motive  for  con- 
cealing her  despair;  she  wrung  her  hands  and  sobbed  as  if  her 
heart  would  break.  All  her  forced  calmness,  her  bravery  and 
hopefulness,  were  gone.  She  felt  crushed  and  lost,  as  if  the 
sharp  pain  in  her  heart  was  the  forerunner  of  the  torture  in 
store  for  her;  as  if  that  swiftly  gliding  bark  had  carried  off  the 
better  part  of  herself. 

While  Gaston  treasured  in  the  bottom  of  his  heart  a  ray  of 
hope,  she  felt  there  was  nothing  to  look  forward  to  but  shame 
and  sorrow. 

The  horrible  facts  which  stared  her  in  the  face  convinced 
her  that  happiness  in  this  life  was  over;  the  future  was  worse 
than  blank.     She  wept  and  shuddered  at  the  prospect. 

She  slowly  retraced  her  footsteps  through  the  friendly  little 
gate  which  had  so  often  admitted  poor  Gaston;  and  as  she 
closed  it  behind  her,  she  seemed  to  be  placing  an  impassable 
barrier  between  herself  and  happiness. 

Before  entering,  Valentine  walked  around  the  chateau,  and 
looked  up  at  the  windows  of  her  mother*s  chamber. 

They  were  brilliantly  lighted,  as  usual  at  this  hour,  for 
Mme.  de  la  Verberie  passed  half  the  night  in  reading  and 
slept  till  late  in  the  day. 

Enjoying  the  comforts  of  life,  which  are  little  costly  in  the 
country,  the  selfish  countess  disturbed  herself  very  little  about 
her  daughter. 

i'earing  no  danger  in  their  isolation,  she  left  her  at  perfect 


176  FILE    NO.    113. 

liberty;  and  day  and  night  Valentine  might  go  and  come,  take 
long  walks,  and  sit  uiwier  the  trees  for  hours  at  a  time  with- 
out restriction. 

But  on  this  night  Valentine  feared  being  seen.  She  would 
be  called  upon  to  explain  the  torn,  muddy  condition  of  her 
dress,  and  what  answer  could  she  give? 

Fortunately  she  could  reach  her  room  without  meeting  any 
one. 

She  needed  solitude  in  order  to  collect  her  thoughts,  and  to 
pray  for  strength  to  bear  the  heavy  burden  of  her  sorrows,  and 
to  withstand  the  angry  storm  about  to  burst  over  her  head. 

Seated  before  her  little  work-table,  she  emptied  the  purse  of 
jewels,  and  mechanically  examined  them. 

It  would  be  a  sweet,  sad  comfort  to  wear  the  simplest  of  the 
rings,  she  thought,  as  she  slipped  the  sparkling  gem  on  her 
finger;  but  her  mother  would  ask  her  where  it  came  from. 
What  answer  could  she  give?     Alas,  none! 

She  kissed  the  purse,  in  memory  of  Gaston,  and  then  con- 
cealed the  sacred  deposit  in  her  bureau. 

When  she  thought  of  going  to  Clameran,  to  inform  the  old 
marquis  of  the  miraculous  preservation  of  his  son's  life,  her 
heart  sunk. 

Blinded  by  his  passion,  Gaston  did  not  think,  when  he  re- 
quested this  service,  of  the  obstacles  and  dangers  to  be  braved 
in  its  performance. 

But  Valentine  saw  them  only  too  clearly;  yet  it  did  not  oc- 
cur to  her  for  an  instant  to  break  her  promise  by  sending  anr 
other,  or  by  delaying  to  go  herself. 

At  sunrise  she  dressed  herself. 

When  the  bell  was  ringing  for  early  mass,  she  thought  it 
was  a  good  time  to  start  on  her  errand. 

The  servants  were  all  up,  and  one  of  them  named  Mihonne, 
who  always  waited  on  Valentine,  was  scrubbing  the  vestibule. 

*'  If  mother  asks  for  me,"  said  Valentine  to  the  girl,  "  tell 
her  I  have  gone  to  early  mass." 

She  often  went  to  church  at  this  hour,  so  there  was  nothing 
to  he  feared  thus  far;  Mihonne  looked  at  her  sadly,  but  said 
nothing. 

Valentine  knew  that  she  would  have  difficulty  in  returning 
to  breakfast.  She  would  have  to  walk  a  league  before  reach- 
ing the  bridge,  and  it  was  another  league  thence  to  Clameran^ 
in  all  she  must  walk  four  leagues. 

She  set  forth  at  a  rapid  pace.  The  consciousness  of  per- 
forming an  extraordinary  action,  the  feverish  anxiety  of  peril 
incurrei^,,  increased  her  haste.     She  forgot  that  she  had  worn 


eiLE  ISO.  110.  177 

herself  out  weeping  all  night;   that  this  fictitious  strength 
could  not  last. 

In  spite  of  her  efforts,  it  ■was  after  eight  o'clock  when  sh« 
reached  the  long  avenue  to  the  main  entrance  of  the  Chdteaq 
of  Clameran. 

She  had  only  proceeded  a  few  steps,  when  she  saw  old  St. 
Jean  coming  down  the  path. 

She  stopped  and  waited  for  him;  he  hastened  his  steps  at 
eight  of  her,  as  if  having  something  to  tell  her. 

He  was  very  much  excited,  and  his  eyes  were  swelled  with 
weeping. 

To  Valentine's  surprise,  he  did  not  take  off  his  hat  to  bow, 
and  when  he  came  up  to  her,  he  said,  rudely: 

"  Are  you  going  to  the  chdteau,  mademoiselle?" 

"Yes." 

"  If  you  are  going  after  Monsieur  Gaston/'  said  the  servant, 
with  an  insolent  sneer,  "  you  are  taking  useless  trouble.  Mon- 
aieur  the  Count  is  dead,  mademoiselle;  he  sacrificed  himself 
for  the  sake  of  a  worthless  woman." 

Valentine  turned  white  at  this  insult,  but  took  no  notice  of 
It.  St.  Jean,  who  expected  to  see  her  overcome  by  the  dread- 
ful news,  was  bewildered  at  her  composure. 

**  I  am  going  to  the  chateau,"  she  said,  quietly,  "  to  speak 
to  the  marquis." 

St.  Jean  stifled  a  sob,  and  said: 

"  Then  it  is  not  worth  while  to  go  any  further." 

"Why?" 

**  Because  the  Marquis  of  Clameran  died  at  five  o'clock  thia 
morning. " 

Valentine  leaned  against  a  tree  to  prevent  hreself  from 
Hailing. 

"  Dead?"  she  gasped. 

"Yes,"  said  St.  Jean,  fiercely;  "yes,  dead." 

A  faithful  servant  of  the  old  regime,  St.  Jean  shared  all  the 
passions,  weaknesses,  friendships  and  enmities  of  his  master. 
He  had  a  horror  of  the  La  Verberies.  And  now  he  saw  in 
Valentine  the  woman  who  had  caused  the  death  of  the  mar- 
quis, whom  he  had  served  for  forty  years,  and  of  Gaston,  whom 
He  worshiped. 

"  I  will  tell  you  how  he  died,"  said '  the-bitter  old  man. 
"Yesterday  evening,  when  those  hounds  came  and  told  the 
xnarquis  that  his  eldest  son  was  dead,  he  who  was  as  hardy  as 
an  oak,  and  could  face  any  danger,  instantly  gave  away,  and 
dropped  as  if  struck  by  lightning.  I  was  there.  He  wildly 
beat  the  air  with  his  hands,  and  fell  without  opening  his  hps; 


178  PILE  Na  113. 

not  one  word  did  he  utter.  We  pat  him  to  bed,  and  Monsieai 
XjouIs  galloped  into  Tarascon  for  a  doctor.  But  the  blow  had 
etruck  too  deeply.  When  Doctor  Eaget  arrived,  he  said  there 
was  no  hope. 

**  At  day-break  the  marquis  recovered  consciousness  to  ask 
for  Monsieur  Louis,  with  whom  he  remained  alone  for  some 
minutes.  The  last  words  he  uttered  were,  '  Fatlier  and  sop 
the  same  day;  there  will  be  rejoicing  at  La  Verberie. '  " 

Valentine  might  have  soothed  the  sorrow  of  the  faithful 
servant,  by  telling  him  Gaston  still  lived;  but  she  feared  it 
would  be  indiscreet,  and  unfortunately,  said  nothing. 

"  Can  I  see  Monsieur  Louis?"  she  asked,  after  a  long  si- 
lence. 

This  question  seemed  to  arouse  all  the  anger  slumbering  iq 
the  breast  of  poor  St.  Jean. 

**  You!  You  would  dare  take  such  a  step.  Mademoiselle  da 
la  Verberie?  What!  would  you  presume  to  appear  before  him 
after  what  has  happened?  I  will  never  allow  it!  And  you 
had  best,  moreover,  take  my  advice,  and  return  home  at 
once.  I  will  not  answer  for  the  tongues  of  the  servants  here 
when  they  see  you.'" 

And,  without  waiting  for  an  answer,  he  hurried  away. 

What  could  Valentine  do?  Humiliated  and  miserable,  she 
could  only  wearily  drag  her  aching  limbs  back  the  way  she 
had  so  rapidly  come  early  that  morning.  On  the  road  she  met 
many  people  coming  from  the  town,  where  they  had  heard  of 
the  events  of  the  previous  night;  and  the  poor  girl  was  obliged 
to  keep  her  eyes  fastened  to  the  ground  in  order  to  escape  the 
insulting  looks  and  mocking  salutations  with  which  the  gos- 
sips passed  her. 

When  Valentine  reached  La  Verberie,  she  found  Mihonne 
watching  for  her. 

*' Ah,  mademoiselle,''  she  said,  *' make  haste,  and  go  in 
the  house.  Madame  had  a  visitor  this  morning,  and  ever  since 
she  left  has  been  crying  out  for  you.  Hurry;  and  take  care 
V^hat  you  say  to  her,  for  she  is  in  a  violent  passion. " 

Much  has  been  said  in  favor  of  the  patriarchal  manners  oi 
our  ancestors. 

Their  manners  may  have  been  patriarchal  years  and  years 
ago;  but  our  mothers  and  wives  nowadays  certainly  have  not 
such  ready  hands  and  quick  tongues,  and  are  sometimes,  at 
least,  elegant  in  manner  and  choice  of  their  language. 

Mme.  de  la  Verberie  had  preserved  the  manners  of  the  good 
old  times,  when  grand  ladies  swore  like  troopers,  and  impresse(3 
their  remarks  by  slaps  in  the  face. 


PIL3  iro.  113.  179 

When  Valentine  appeared  she  was  overwhelmed  with  coarse 
epithets  and  violent  abuse. 

The  countess  had  been  fnformed  of  everything,  with  manj 
gross  additions  added  by  public  scandal.  An  old  dowager, 
her  most  intimate  friend,  had  hurried  over  early  in  the  morn- 
ing to  offer  her  this  poisoned  dish  of  gossip,  seasoned  with  her 
own  pretended  condolences. 

In  this  sad  affair,  Mme.  de  la  Verberie  mourned  less  over 
her  daughter's  loss  of  reputation,  than  over  the  ruin  of  her 
own  projects — projects  of  going  to  Paris,  making  a  grand 
marriage  for  Valentine,  and  living  in  luxury  the  rest  of  her 
days. 

A  young  girl  so  compromised  would  not  find  it  easy  to  get 
a  husband.  It  would  now  be  necessary  to  keep  her  two  years 
longer  in  the  country,  before  introducing  her  into  Parisian  so- 
ciety.    The  world  must  have  time  to  forget  this  scandal. 

"  You  worthless  wretch  P'  cried  the  countess,  with  fury; 
"is  it  thus  you  respect  the  noble  traditions  of  our  family? 
Heretofore  it  has  never  been  considered  necessary  to  watch  the 
La  Verberies;  they  could  take  care  of  their  honor;  bnt  you 
must  take  advantage  of  your  liberty  to  cover  our  name  with 
disgrace. '* 

With  a  sinking  heart,  Valentine  had  foreseen  this  tirade. 
She  felt  that  it  was  only  a  just  punishment  for  her  conduct. 
Knowing  that  the  indignation  of  her  mother  was  just,  she 
meekly  hung  her  head  like  a  repentant  sinner  at  the  bar  of 
justice. 

But  this  submissive  silence  only  exasperated  the  angry 
countess. 

"  Why  do  you  not  answer  me?**  she  screamed,  with  flashing 
eyes  and  a  threatening  gesture.     "  Speak!  you — " 

"  What  can  I  say,  mother?'* 

"  Say,  miserable  girl!  Say  that  they  lied  when  they  ac- 
cused a  La  Verberie  of  disgracing  her  name!  Speak;  defend 
yourself!" 

Valentine  mournfully  shook  her  head,  but  said  nothing. 

"  It  is  true,  then!"  shrieked  the  countess,  beside  herself 
with  rage;  "  what  they  said  is  true?" 

"Forgive  me,  mother:  have  mercy!  I  am  so  miserable!" 
moaned  the  poor  girl. 

"  Forgive!  have  mercy!  Do  you  dare  to  tell  me  I  have  not 
been  deceived  by  this  gossip  to-day?  Do  you  have  the  inso- 
lence to  stand  there  and  glory  in  your  shame?  Whose  blood 
flows  in  your  veins?  You  seem  to  be  ignorant  that  soma 
faults  should  be  persistently  denied,  no  matter  how  glaring 


180  PILE  3«ra  ItflL 

the  evidence  against  them.  And  you  are  my  daughter!  Can 
you  not  understand  that  an  ignominious  confession  lik«  this 
should  nerer  be  forced  from  a  woman  by  any  human  power? 
But  no,  you  have  lovers,  and  unblushingly  avow  it.  Why  not 
run  over  the  town  and  tell  everybody?  Boast  of  it,  glory  in  it; 
it  would  be  something  new!" 

"  Alas!  you  are  pitiless,  mother!*' 

**  Did  you  have  any  pity  on  me,  my  dutiful  daughter?  Did 
it  ever  occur  to  you  that  your  disgrace  would  kill  me?  Ko;  I 
suppose  you  and  your  lover  have  often  laughed  at  my  blind 
confidence;  for  I  had  confidence  in  you;  I  had  perfect  faith  iu 
you.  I  believed  you  to  be  as  iunocent  as  when  you  lay  in  your 
cradle.  And  it  has  come  to  this;  drunken  men  make  a  jest 
of  your  name  in  a  billiard-room,  then  fight  about  you,  and 
kill  each  other.  I  intrusted  to  you  the  honor  of  our  name,  and 
what  did  you  do  with  it?  You  handed  it  over  to  the  first 
comer!" 

This  was  too  much  for  Valentine.  The  words  **  first 
comer,'*  wounded  her  pride  more  than  all  the  other  abuse 
heaped  upon  her.  She  tried  to  protest  against  this  unmerited 
insult. 

"  Ah,  I  have  made  a  mistake  in  supposing  this  to  be  the 
first  one,"  said  the  countess.  '*  Among  your  many  lovers, 
you  choose  the  heir  of  our  worst  enemy,  the  son  of  those  detest- 
ed  Clamerans.  Among  all,  you  select  a  coward  who  publicly 
boasted  of  your  favors;  a  wretch  who  tried  to  avenge  himself 
for  the  heroism  of  our  ancestors  by  ruining  you  and  me — an 
old  woman  and  a  child!" 

"  No,  mother,  you  do  him  wrong.  He  loved  me,  and  hopes 
for  your  consent." 

"  Wants  to  marry  you,  does  he?  Never,  never  shall  that 
come  to  pass!  I  would  rather  see  you  lower  than  you  are,  in 
the  gutter,  laid  in  your  coffin,  than  see  you  the  wife  of  that 
man!" 

Thus  the  hatred  of  the  countess  was  expressed  very  much  in 
the  terms  which  the  old  marquis  had  used  to  his  son. 

"  Besides,"  she  added,  with  a  ferocity  of  which  only  a  bad 
woman  is  capable,  "  your  lover  is  drowned,  and  the  old  mar- 
quis is  dead.     God  is  just;  we  are  avenged.** 

The  words  of  St.  Jean:  "  There  will  bs  rejoicing  at  La 
Verberie,**  rang  in  Valentine's  ears,  as  she  saw  the  countess'c 
eyes  sparkle  with  wicked  joy. 

This  was  too  much  for  the  unfoTtunate  girl. 

For  half  an  hour  she  had  been  exerting  all  her  strength  to 
bear  this  cruel  violence  from  her  mother;  but  her  physical  el/p 


FILE    NO.    113.  181 

durance  was  not  equal  to  the  task.  She  turned  pale,  and  with 
half-closed  eyes  tried  to  seize  a  table,  as  she  felt  herself  falling; 
but  her  head  fell  against  a  bracket,  and  with  bleeding  fore- 
head she  dropped  at  her  mother's  feet. 

The  cold-hearted  countess  felt  no  revival  of  maternal  love, 
as  she  looked  at  her  daughter's  lifeless  form.  Her  vanity  wai 
wounded,  but  no  other  emotion  disturbed  her.  Hers  was  a 
heart  so  full  of  anger  and  hatred  that  there  was  no  room  for 
any  nobler  sentiment. 

She  rang  the  bell;  and  the  affrighted  servants,  who  were 
trembling  in  the  passage  at  the  loud  and  angry  tones  of  that 
voice,  of  which  they  all  stood  in  terror,  came  running  in. 

"Carry  mademoiselle  to  her  room,"  she  ordered;  "lock 
her  up,  and  bring  me  the  key. " 

The  countess  intended  keeping  Valentine  a  close  prisoner 
for  a  long  time. 

She  well  knew  the  mischievous,  gossiping  propensitiee  of 
country  people,  who,  from  mere  idleness,  indulge  in  limitless 
scandal.  A  poor  fallen  girl  must  either  leave  the  country,  or 
drink  to  the  very  dregs  the  chalice  of  premeditated  humilia- 
iion,  heaped  up  and  offered  her  by  her  neighbors.  Each  clown 
delights  in  casting  a  stone  at  her. 

The  plans  of  the  countess  were  destined  to  be  disconcerted. 

The  servants  came  to  tell  her  that  Valentine  was  restored 
to  consciousness,  but  seemed  to  be  very  ill. 

She  replied  that  she  would  not  listen  to  such  absurdities, 
that  it  was  all  affectation;  but  Mihonne  insisted  upon  her  go- 
ing up  and  judging  for  herself.  She  unwillingly  went  to  her 
daughter's  room,  and  saw  that  her  life  was  in  danger. 

The  countess  betrayed  no  apprehension,  but  sent  to  Taras- 
con  for  Dr.  Raget,  who  was  the  oracle  of  the  neighborhood; 
he  was  with  the  Marquis  of  Clameran  when  he  died. 

Dr.  Raget  was  one  of  those  men  who  lea^e  a  blessed  mem- 
ory, which  lives  long  after  they  have  left  this  world. 

Intelligent,  noble-hearted,  and  wealthy,  he  devoted  his  life 
to  his  art;  going  from  the  mansions  of  the  rich  to  the  hovels 
of  the  poor,  without  ever  accepting  remuneration  for  his  serv- 
ices. 

At  all  hours  of  the  night  and  day,  his  gray  horse  and  old 
buggy  might  be  seen,  with  a  basket  of  wine  and  soup  under 
the  seat,  for  his  poorer  patients. 

He  was  a  little,  bald-headed  man  of  fifty,  with  a  quick 
bright  eye,  a  ad  pleasant  face. 

The  serrant  fortunately  found  him  at  home;  and  he  was 


182  PILE    2T0.    113. 

soon  standing  at  Valentine's  bedside,  with  a  grave,  perplexed 
look  upon  his  usually  cheerful  face. 

Endowed  with  profound  perspicacity,  quickened  by  practice, 
he  studied  Valentine  and  her  mother  alternately;  and  th« 
penetrating  gaze  which  he  fastened  on  the  old  countess  so  dis- 
concerted her  that  she  felt  her  wrinkled  face  turning  very  red. 

**  This  child  is  very  ill,"  he  abruptly  ss«'d. 

Mme.  de  Verberie  made  no  reply. 

**  I  desire,*'  continued  the  doctor,  "  to  remain  alone  with 
her  for  a  few  minutes." 

The  countess  dared  not  resist  the  authority  of  a  man  of  Dr. 
Raget's  character,  and  retired  to  the  next  room,  apparently 
calm,  but  in  reality  disturbed  by  the  most  gloomy  forebodings. 

At  the  end  of  half  an  hour — it  seemed  a  century — the  doc- 
tor entered  the  room  where  she  was  waiting.  He,  who  had 
witnessed  so  much  suffering  and  misery  all  of  his  life,  was  agi- 
tated and  nervous  after  talking  with  Valentine. 

*'  Well,''  said  the  countess,  **  what  is  the  matter?" 

"Summon  all  your  courage,  madame,"  he  answered,  sad- 
ly, "  and  be  prepared  to  grant  indulgence  and  pardon  to  your 
suffering  child.  Mademoiselle  Valentine  will  soon  become  a 
mother." 

"  The  worthless  creature!    I  feared  as  much." 

The  doctor  was  shocked  at  the  dreadful  expression  of  the 
countess's  eyes.  He  laid  his  hand  on  her  arm,  and  gave  her  a 
penetrating  look,  beneath  which  she  instantly  quailed. 

The  doctor's  suspicions  were  correct. 

A  dreadful  idea  had  flashed  across  Mme.  de  la  Verberie'a 
mind — the  idea  of  destroying  this  child  which  would  be  a  liv- 
ing proof  of  Valentine's  sin. 

Feeling  that  her  evil  intention  was  divined,  the  proud  wom- 
an's eyes  fell  beneath  the  doctor's  obstinate  gaze. 

"  I  do  not  understand  you.  Doctor  Raget,"  she  murmured. 

'*  But  I  understand  you,  madame;  and  I  simply  tell  you 
that  a  crime  does  not  obliterate  a  fault. " 

"  Doctor!" 

"  1  merely  say  what  I  think,  madame.  If  I  am  mistaken 
in  my  impression,  so  much  the  better  for  you.  At  present, 
the  condition  of  your  daughter  is  serious,  but  not  dangerous. 
Excitement  and  distress  of  mind  have  unstrung  her  nerves, 
and  she  now  has  a  high  fever,  but  I  hope  by  great  care  and 
good  nursing  that  she  will  soon  recover." 

The  countess  saw  that  the  good  doctor's  suspicions  were 
not  dissipated;  so  she  thought  she  would  try  affectionate  anx- 
iety, and  said: 


FILE    NO.    113.  183 

**  At  least,  doctor,  you  can  assure  me  that  the  dear  child's 
life  is  not  in  danger?'' 

"  No,  madame,"  answered  Dr.  Raget,  with  cutting  irony, 
**  your  maternal  tenderness  need  not  be  alarmed.  All  the 
poor  child  needs  is  rest  of  mind,  which  you  alone  can  give  her. 
A  few  kind  words  from  you  will  do  her  more  good  than  all  my 
prescriptions.  But  remember,  madame,  that  the  least  shock 
or  nervous  excitement  will  produce  the  most  fatal  conse- 
quences. " 

"  I  am  aware  of  that,"  said  the  hypocritical  countess,  '*  and 
shall  be  very  careful.  I  must  confess  that  I  was  unable  to 
control  my  anger  upon  first  hearing  your  announcement." 

"  But  now  that  the  first  shock  is  over,  madame,  being  a 
mother  and  a  Christian,  you  will  do  your  duty.  My  duty  is  to 
save  your  daughter  and  her  child.     I  will  call  to-morrow." 

Mme.  de  la  Verberie  had  no  idea  of  having  the  doctor  gooff 
in  this  way.  She  called  him  back,  and  without  reflecting  that 
she  was  betraying  herself,  cried  out: 

"  Do  you  pretend  to  say,  monsieur,  that  you  will  prevent 
my  taking  every  means  to  conceal  this  terrible  misfortune 
which  has  fallen  upon  me?  Do  you  wish  our  shame  made 
public,  to  make  me  the  laughing-stock  of  the  neighborhood?" 

The  doctor  reflected  without  answering;  the  condition  of 
affairs  was  grave. 

*'  No,  madame,"  he  finally  said,  *'  I  can  not  prevent  your 
leaving  La  Verberie;  that  would  be  overstepping  my  powers. 
But  it  is  my  duty  to  hold  ycu  to  account  for  the  child.  You  are 
at  liberty  to  go  where  you  please;  but  you  must  give  me  proof 
of  the  child's  living,  or  at  least  that  no  attempts  have  been 
made  against  its  life. " 

After  uttering  these  threatening  words  he  left  the  house, 
and  it  was  in  good  time;  for  the  countess  was  choking  with 
suppressed  rage. 

Insolent  upstart!"  she  said,  "to  presume  to  dictate  to 
a  woman  of  my  rank!  Ah,  if  I  were  not  completely  at  his 
mercy!" 

But  she  was  at  his  mercy,  and  she  knew  well  enough  that  it 
would  be  safest  to  obey. 

She  stamped  her  foot  with  anger,  as  she  thought  that  all  her 
ambitious  plans  were  dashed  to  the  ground. 

No  more  hopes  of  luxury,  of  a  millionatire  son-in-law,  of 
splendid  carriages,  rich  dresses,   and  charming   card-parties 
where  she  could  lose  money  all  night  without  disturbing  hei 
mind. 
.    She  would  have  to  die  as  she  had  lived,  neglected  and  poorj 


184  FILE   SO.    113. 

and  this  f  ature  life  of  deprivation  would  be  harder  to  he»il 
than  the  past,  because  she  no  longer  had  bright  prospects  to 
look  forward  to.  It  was  a  cruel  awakening  from  her  golden 
dreams. 

And  it  was  Valentine  who  brought  this  misery  upon  her. 

This  reflection  aroused  all  her  inherent  bitterness,  and  she 
felt  toward  her  daughter  one  of  those  implacable  hatredg 
which,  instead  of  being  quenched,  are  strengthened  by  time. 

She  wished  she  could  see  Valentine  lying  dead  before  her; 
above  all,  would  she  like  the  accursed  infant  to  come  to  grieL 

But  the  doctor's  threatening  look  was  still  before  her,  and 
she  dared  not  attempt  her  wicked  plans.  She  even  forced 
herself  to  go  and  say  a  few  forgiving  words  to  Valentine,  and 
then  left  her  to  the  care  of  the  faithful  Mihonne. 

Poor  Valentine!  she  prayed  that  death  might  kindly  end 
her  sufferings.  She  had  neither  the  moral  nor  physical 
courage  to  fight  against  her  fate,  but  hopelessly  sunk  beneath 
the  first  blow,  and  made  no  attempt  to  rally  herself. 

She  was,  however,  getting  better.  She  felt  that  dull,  heavy 
sensation  which  always  follows  violent  mental  or  physical  suf- 
fering; still  she  was  able  to  reflect,  and  thought: 

*'  Well,  it  is  over;  my  mother  knows  everything.  I  no  longer 
have  her  anger  to  fear,  and  must  trust  to  time  for  her  forgive- 
ness." 

This  was  the  secret  which  Valentine  had  refused  to  reveal  to 
Gaston,  because  she  feared  that  he  would  refuse  to  leave  her  if 
he  knew  it;  and  she  wished  him  to  escape  at  any  price  of  suffer- 
ing to  herself.  Even  now  she  did  not  regret  having  followed 
the  dictates  of  duty,  and  remained  at  home. 

The  only  thought  which  distressed  her  was  Gaston's  danger. 
Had  he  succeeded  in  embarking?  How  would  she  find  out? 
The  doctor  had  allowed  her  to  get  up;  but  she  was  not  well 
enough  to  go  out,  and  she  did  not  know  when  she  should  be 
able  to  walk  as  far  as  Pere  Menoul's  cabin. 

Happily  the  devoted  old  boatman  was  intelligent  enough  to 
anticipate  her  wishes. 

Hearing  that  the  young  lady  at  the  chateau  was  very  ill, 
he  set  about  devising  some  means  of  informing  her  of  her 
friend's  safety.  He  went  to  La  Verberie  several  times  oif 
pretended  errands,  and  finally  succeeded  in  seeing  Valentine. 
One  of  the  servants  was  present,  so  he  could  not  speak  to  her, 
but  he  made  her  understand  by  a  significant  look  that  Gaston 
was  out  of  danger. 

This  knowledge  contributed  more  toward  Valentine's  re- 
covery than  all  the  medicines  administered  by  the  doctor,  who. 


FILE    NO.    113.  185 

after  visiting  her  daily  for  six  weeks,  now  pronounced  his 
patient  sufficiently  strong  to  bear  the  fatigues  of  a  journey. 

The  countess  had  waited  with  the  greatest  impatience  for 
this  decision.  In  order  to  prevent  any  delay,  she  had  already 
sold  at  a  discount  half  of  her  incoming  rents,  supposing  that 
the  sum  thus  raiised,  twenty-five  thousand  francs,  would  suffice 
for  all  contingent  expenses. 

For  a  fortnight  she  had  been  calling  on  all  her  neighbors 
to  bid  them  farewell,  saying  that  her  daughter  had  entirely 
recovered  her  health,  and  that  she  was  going  to  take  her  to 
England  to  visit  a  ricli  old  uncle,  who  had  repeatedly  written 
for  her. 

Valentine  looked  forward  to  this  journey  with  terror,  and 
shuddered  when,  on  the  evening  that  the  doctor  gave  her  per- 
mission to  set  out,  her  mother  came  to  her  room,  and  said: 

"  We  will  start  the  day  after  to-morrow.'* 

Only  one  day  left!  And  Valentine  had  been  unable  to  leu 
Louis  de  Clameran  know  that  his  brother  was  still  living. 

In  this  extremity  she  was  obliged  to  confide  in  Mihonnc, 
and  sent  her  with  a  letter  to  Louis. 

But  the  faithful  servant  had  a  useless  walk. 

The  Chateau  of  Clameran  was  deserted;  all  the  servants 
had  been  dismissed,  and  M.  Louis,  whom  they  now  called  tho 
marquis,  had  gone  abroad. 

At  last  they  started.  Mme.  de  la  Verberie,  feeling  that 
she  could  trust  Mihonne,  decided  to  take  her  along;  but  first 
made  her  sacredly  promise  eternal  secrecy. 

It  was  in  a  little  village  near  London  that  the  countess,  un- 
der the  assumed  name  of  Mrs.  Wilson,  took  up  her  abode  with 
her  daughter  and  maid-servant. 

She  selected  England,  because  she  had  lived  there  a  long 
time,  and  was  well  acquainted  with  the  manners  and  habits  of 
the  people,  and  ?poke  their  language  as  well  as  she  did  her  own. 

She  had  also  kept  up  her  acquaintanceship  with  some  of  the 
English  nobility,  and  often  dined  and  went  to  the  theater  with 
her  friends  in  London.  On  these  occasions  she  always  took 
the  humiliating  precaution  of  locking  up  Valentine  until  she 
should  return. 

It  was  in  this  sad,  solitary  house,  in  the  month  of  May,  that 
the  son  of  Valentine  de  la  Verberie  was  born.  He  was  taken 
to  the  parish  priest,  and  christened  Valentiu-Raoul  Wilson. 
The  countess  had  prepared  everything,  and  engaged  an  honest 
farmer's  wife  to  adopt  the  child,  bring  him  up  as  her  own, 
and,  when  old  enough,  have  him  taught  a  trade.  Per  doinji 
thiS;,  the  countess  paid  her  five  hundred  pounds. 


186  PILE    NO.    113. 

Little  Raoul  was  given  over  to  Ms  adopted  parent  a  tew  honn 

after  his  birth. 

Tiie  good  woman  thought  him  the  child  of  an  English  lady, 
and  there  seemed  no  probability  that  he  would  ever  discover 
the  secret  of  his  birth. 

Restored  to  consciousness,  Valentine  asked  for  her  child. 
She  yearned  to  clasp  it  to  her  bosom;  she  implored  to  be 
allowed  to  hold  her  babe  in  her  arms  for  only  one  minute. 

But  the  cruel  countess  was  pitiless. 

"Your  child!'"  she  cried;  "you  must  be  dreaming;  you 
have  no  child.     You  have  had  brain  fever,  but  no  child. "' 

And  as  Vfilentine  persisted  in  saying  that  she  knew  the 
child  was  alive,  and  that  she  must  see  it,  the  countess  was 
forced  to  change  her  tactics. 

"  Your  child  is  alive,  and  shall  want  for  nothing,'*  she  said, 
sharply;  "  let  that  suffice;  and  be  thankful  that  I  have  bo 
well  concealed  your  disgrace.  You  must  forget  what  has  hap- 
pened, as  you  would  forget  a  painful  dream.  The  past  must 
be  ignored — wiped  out  forever.  You  know  me  well  enough  to 
understand  that  I  will  be  obeyed.'* 

The  moment  had  come  when  Valentine  should  have  asserted 
her  maternal  rights,  and  resisted  the  countess's  tyranny. 

She  had  the  idea,  but  not  the  courage  to  do  so. 

If,  on  one  side,  she  saw  the  dangers  of  an  almost  culpable 
resignation — for  she,  too,  was  a  mother! — on  the  other  she  felt 
crushed  by  the  consciousness  of  her  guilt. 

She  sadly  yielded;  surrendered  herself  into  the  hands  of  a 
mother  whose  conduct  she  refrained  from  questioning,  to  escape 
the  painful  necessity  of  condemning  it. 

But  she  secretly  pined,  and  inwardly  rebelled  against  her 
sad  disappointment;  and  thus  her  recovery  was  delayed  for 
several  months. 

Toward  the  end  of  July,  the  countess  took  her  back  to  La 
Verberie.  This  time  the  mischief-makers  and  gossips  were 
skillfully  deceived.  The  countess  went  everywhere,  and  in- 
stituted secret  inquiries,  but  heard  no  suspicions  of  the  object 
of  her  trip  to  England.  Every  one  believed  in  the  visit  to 
the  rich  uncle. 

Only  one  man.  Dr.  Raget,  knew  the  truth;  and,  although 
Mme.  de  la  Verberie  hated  him  from  the  bottom  of  her  heart, 
she  did  him  the  justice  to  feel  sure  that  she  had  nothing  to 
fear  from  his  ir. discretion. 

Her  first  visit  was  paid  to  him. 

When  he  entered  the  room,  she  abruptly  threw  on  the  table 
the  official  papers  which  she  had  procured  especially  for  him. 


PILE  NO.  113.  187 

"  These  will  prove  to  you,  monsieur,  that  the  child  is  living, 
end  well  cared  for,  at  a  cost  that  I  can  ill  afford. " 

"  These  are  perfectly  right,  madame,'*  he  replied,  after  an 
attentive  examination  of  the  papers,  "  and,  if  your  conscience 
does  not  reproach  you,  of  course  I  have  nothing  to  say." 

"  My  conscience  reproaches  me  with  nothing,  monsieur.*' 

The  old  doctor  shook  his  head,  and  gazing  searchingly  into 
her  eyes,  said: 

"  Can  you  say  that  you  have  not  been  harsh,  even  to 
cruelty  ?'' 

She  turned  away  her  head,  and  assuming  her  grand  air,  an- 
swered, "  I  have  acted  as  a  woman  of  my  rank  should  act; 
and  I  am  surprised  to  find  in  you  an  advocate  and  abettor  of 
misconduct." 

*'  Ah,  madame,"  said  the  doctor,  "  it  is  your  place  to  show 
kindness  to  the  poor  girl;  and  if  you  feel  none  yourself,  you 
have  no  right  to  complain  of  it  in  others.  What  indulgence 
do  you  expect  from  strangers  toward  your  unhappy  daughter, 
when  you,  her  mother,  are  so  pitiless?" 

This  plain-spoken  truth  offended  the  countess,  and  she  rose 
to  leave. 

*'  Have  you  finished  what  you  have  to  say.  Doctor  Eaget?" 
she  asked,  haughtily. 

*'  Yes,  madame;  I  have  done.  My  only  object  was  to  spare 
you  eternal  remorse.     Good-day.'* 

The  good  doctor  was  mistaken  in  his  idea  of  Mme.  de  la 
Verberie's  character.  She  was  utterly  incapable  of  feeling 
remorse;  but  she  suffered  cruelly  when  her  selfisn  vanity  was 
wounded,  or  her  comfort  disturbed. 

She  resumed  her  luxurious  mode  of  living,  but  having  dis- 
posed of  a  part  of  her  income,  found  it  difficult  to  make  both 
ends  meet. 

This  furnished  her  with  an  inexhaustible  text  for  complaint; 
and  at  every  meal  she  reproached  Valentine  so  unmercifully 
that  the  poor  girl  shrunk  from  coming  to  the  table. 

She  seemed  to  forget  her  owncommand,  that  the  past  should 
be  buried  in  oblivion,  and  constantly  recurred  to  it  for  food 
for  her  anger;  a  day  seldom  passed,  that  she  did  not  say  to 
Valentine: 

"  Your  conduct  has  ruined  us.  '* 

One  day  her  daughter  could  not  refrain  from  replying: 

"  I  suppose  you  would  have  pardoned  the  fault,  had  it  en- 
ncheil  us." 

Bat  these  revolts  of  Valentine  were  rare,  although  her  life 
was  a  series  of  tortures  inflicted  with  inquisitorial  cruelty. 


188  PILE    NO.    113. 

Even  the  memory  of  Gaston  had  become  a  suffering. 

Perhaps,  discovering  the  uselessness  of  her  sacrifice,  of  her 
courage,  and  her  devotion  to  what  she  had  considered  her 
duty,  she  regretted  not  having  followed  him.  What  had  be- 
come of  him?  Might  he  not  have  contrived  to  send  her  a 
letter,  a  word  to  let  her  know  that  he  was  still  alive?  Perhaps 
he  was  dead.  Perhaps  he  had  forgotten  her.  He  had  sworn 
to  return  a  rich  man  before  the  lapse  of  three  years.  Would 
he  ever  return? 

There  was  a  risk  in  his  returning  under  any  circumstances. 
His  disappearance  had  not  ended  the  terrible  affair  of  Taras- 
con.  He  was  supposed  to  be  dead:  but  as  there  was  not  posi- 
tive proof  of  his  death,  and  his  body  could  not  be  found,  the 
law  was  compelled  to  yield  to  the  clamor  of  public  opinion. 

The  case  was  brought  before  the  assize  court;  and,  in  default 
of  appearance,  Gaston  de  Clameran  was  sentenced  to  several 
years  of  close  confinement. 

As  to  Louis  de  Clameran,  no  one  knew  positively  what  had 
become  of  him.  Some  people  said  he  was  leading  a  life  of 
reckless  extravagance  at  Paris. 

Informed  of  these  facts  by  her  faithful  Mihonne,  Valentine 
became  more  gloomy  and  hopeless  than  ever.  Vainly  did  she 
question  the  dreary  future;  no  ray  appeared  upon  the  dark 
horizon  of  her  life. 

Her  elasticity  was  gone;  and  she  had  finally  reached  that 
state  of  passive  resignation  peculiar  to  people  who  are  oppressed 
and  cowed  at  home. 

In  this  miserable  way  passed  four  years  since  the  fatal  even- 
ing when  Gaston  left  her. 

Mme.  de  la  Verberie  had  spent  three  years  in  constant  dis- 
comfort. Seeing  that  she  could  not  live  upon  her  income  and 
having  too  much  pride  to  sell  her  land,  which  was  so  badly 
managed  that  it  only  brought  in  two  per  cent.,  she  mortgaged 
her  estate  in  order  to  raise  money,  only  to  be  spent  as  soon  as 
borrowed. 

In  such  matters,  it  "is  the  first  step  that  costs;  and,  after 
having  once  commenced  to  live  upon  her  capital,  the  countess 
made  rapid  strides  in  extravagance,  saying  to  herself,  "  After 
me,  the  deluge!"  Very  much  as  her  neighbor,  the  late  Mar- 
quis of  Clameran,  had  managed  his  affairs,  she  was  now  con^ 
ducting  hers,  having  but  one  object  in  view — her  own  comfort 
end  pleasure. 

She  made  frequent  visits  to  the  neighboring  towns  of  Nimes 
and  Avignon;  she  sent  to  Paris  for  the  most  elegant  toilets, 
and  entertained  a  great  deal  of  comp^iny.     All  the  luxury  tha^ 


FILE    NO.    115.  18& 

she  had  hoped  to  obtain  by  the  acquisition  of  a  rich  son-in-law, 
she  determined  to  give  herself,  utterly  regardless  of  the  fact 
that  she  was  reducing  her  child  to  beggary.  Great  sorrows 
require  consolation  I 

The  summer  that  she  returned  from  London,  she  did  not 
hesitate  to  indulge  her  fancy  for  a  horse;  it  was  rather  old,  to 
be  sure,  but,  when  harnessed  to  a  second-hand  carriage  bought 
on  credit  at  Baaucaire,  made  quite  a  good  appearance. 

She  would  quiet  her  conscience,  which  occasionally  re- 
proached her  for  this  constant  extravagance,  by  saying,  *'  I 
am  so  unhajDpy!'^ 

The  unhappiness  was  that  this  luxury  cost  her  dear,  very 
dear. 

After  having  sold  the  rest  of  her  rents,  the  countes,  first 
mortgaged  the  estate  of  La  Verberie,  and  then  the  chateau 
itself. 

In  less  than  four  years  she  owed  more  than  forty  thousand 
francs,  and  was  unable  to  pay  the  interest  of  her  debt. 

She  was  racking  her  mind  to  discover  some  means  of  escape 
from  her  difficulties,  when  chance  came  to  her  rescue. 

For  some  time  a  young  engineer,  employed  in  surveys  along 
the  Rhone,  had  made  the  village  of  Beaucaire  the  center  of  his 
operations. 

Being  handsome,  agreeable,  and  of  polished  manners,  he  had 
been  warmly  welcomed  by  the  neighboring  society,  and  the 
countess  frequently  met  him  at  the  houses  of  her  friends  where 
she  went  to  play  cards  in  the  evenings.  This  young  engineer 
was  named  Andre  Fauvel. 

The  first  time  he  met  Valentine  he  was  struck  by  her  beauty, 
and  after  once  looking  into  her  large,  melancholy  eyes,  his  ad- 
miration deepened  into  love;  a  love  so  earnest  and  passionate, 
that  he  felt  that  he  could  never  be  happy  without  her. 

Before  being  introduced  to  her,  his  heart  had  surrendered 
itself  to  her  charms. 

He  was  wealthy;  a  splendid  career  was  open  to  him,  he  was 
free;  and  he  swore  that  Valentine  should  be  his. 

He  confided  all  his  matrimonial  plans  to  an  old  friend  of 
Mme.  de  la  Verberie,  who  was  as  noble  as  a  Montmorency,  and 
as  poor  as  Job. 

With  the  precision  of  a  graduate  of  the  polytechnic  school, 
he  had  enumerated  all  his  qualifications  for  being  a  modei 
son-in-law. 

For  a  long  time  the  old  lady  listened  to  him  without  inter- 
ruption; but,  when  he  had  finished,  she  did  not  hesitate  to  tell 
him  that  his  pretensions  were  presumptuous. 


190  FILE    NO.    113. 

What!  he,  a  man  of  no  pedigree,  a  Fauvel,  a  common  Bur> 
veyor,  to  aspire  to  the  hand  of  a  La  Verberie! 

After  having  enumerated  all  the  superior  advantages  of  that 
superior  order  of  beings,  the  nobility,  she  condescended  to  take 
a  common  sense  view  of  the  case,  and  said: 

"  However,  you  may  succeed.  The  poor  countess  owes 
money  in  every  direction;  not  a  day  passes  without  the  bailiffs 
calling  upon  her;  so  that,  you  understand,  if  a  rich  suitor  ap- 
peared, and  agreed  to  her  terms  for  settlements — well,  well, 
there  is  no  knowing  what  might  happen.'' 

Andre  Fauvel  was  young  and  sentimental:  the  insinuations 
of  the  old  lady  seemed  to  him  preposterous. 

On  reflection,  however,  when  he  had  studied  the  character 
of  the  nobility  in  the  neighborhood,  M'ho  were  rich  in  nothing 
but  prejudices,  he  clearly  saw  that  pecuniary  considerations 
alone  would  be  strong  enough  to  decide  the  proud  Countess  de 
la  Verberie  to  grant  him  her  daughter's  hand. 

This  certainty  ended  his  hesitations,  and  he  turned  his  whole 
attention  to  devising  a  plan  for  presenting  his  claim. 

He  did  not  find  this  an  easy  thing  to  accomplish.  To  go  in 
quest  of  a  wife  with  her  purchase-money  in  his  hand,  was  re- 
pugnant to  his  feelings,  and  contrary  to  his  ideas  of  delicacy. 
But  he  had  no  one  to  urge  his  suit  for  him  on  his  own  merits: 
so  he  was  compelled  to  shut  his  eyes  to  the  distasteful  features 
of  his  task,  and  treat  his  passion  as  a  matter  of  business. 

The  occasion  so  anxiously  waited,  to  explain  his  intentions. 
Boon  presented  itself. 

One  day  he  entered  an  hotel  at  Beaucaire,  and,  as  he  sat  down 
to  dinner,  he  saw  that  Mme.  de  la  Verberie  was  at  the  adjoin- 
ing table.  He  blushed  deeply,  and  asked  permission  to  sit  at 
her  table,  which  was  granted  with  a  most  encouraging  smile. 

Did  the  countess  suspect  the  love  of  the  young  engineer? 
Had  she  been  warned  by  her  friend? 

At  any  rate,  witho\it  giving  Andre  time  to  gradually  ap- 
proach the  subject  weighing  on  his  mind,  she  began  to  com- 
plain of  the  hard  times,  the  scarcity  of  money,  and  the  grasping 
meanness  of  the  tradespeople. 

She  had  come  to  Beaucaire,  indeed,  to  borrow  money,  and 
found  every  bank  and  cash-box  closed  against  her;  and  her 
lawyer  had  advised  her  to  sell  her  land  for  what  it  would  bring. 
This  made  her  very  angry. 

Temper,  joined  to  that  secret  instinct  of  the  situation  of 
affairs  which  is  the  sixth  sense  of  a  woman,  loosened  her 
tongue,  and  made  her  more  communicative  to  this  comparative 
Btranger  than  she  had  ever  been  to  her  bosom  friends.     She 


FILE    HO.    113.  19J 

explained  to  him  the  horror  of  her  situation,  her  present  needs, 
her  anxiety  for  the  future,  and,  above  all,  her  great  disfcrecs 
at  not  being  able  to  marry  ofE  her  beloved  daughter.  If  she 
only  had  a  dowry  for  her  child! 

Andre  listened  to  these  complaints  with  becoming  commis- 
eration, but  in  reality  he  was  delighted. 

Without  giving  her  time  to  finish  her  tale,  he  began  to  state 
what  he  called  his  view  of  the  matter. 

He  said  that,  although  he  sympathized  deeply  with  the 
countees,  he  could  not  account  for  her  uneasiness  about  her 
daughter. 

What?  Could  she  be  disturbed  at  having  no  dowry  for  her? 
Why,  the  rank  and  beauty  of  Mile.  Valentine  were  a  fortune 
in  themselves,  of  which  any  man  might  be  proud. 

He  knew  more  than  one  man  who  would  esteem  himself  only 
too  happy  if  Mile.  Valentine  would  accept  his  name,  and  con- 
fer upon  him  the  sweet  duty  of  reliering  her  mother  from  all 
anxiety  and  care.  Finally,  he  did  not  think  the  situation  of 
the  countess's  affairs  nearly  so  desperate  as  she  imagined. 
How  much  money  would  be  necessary  to  pay  off  the  mortgages 
upon  La  Verberie?  About  forty  thousand  francs,  perhaps? 
Indeed!    That  was  but  a  mere  trifle. 

Besides,  this  sum  need  not  be  a  gift  from  the  son-in-law;  if 
she  chose,  it  might  be  a  loan,  because  the  estate  would  be  his 
in  the  end,  and  in  time  the  land  would  be  double  its  present 
value;  it  would  be  a  pity  to  sell  it  now.  A  man,  too,  woryth 
of  Valentine's  love,  could  never  let  his  wife's  mother  want  for 
the  comforts  and  luxuries  due  to  a  lady  of  her  age,  rank,  and 
misfortunes.  He  would  be  only  too  glad  to  offer  her  a  suffi- 
cient income,  not  only  to  provide  comfort,  but  even  luxury. 

As  Andre  spoke,  in  a  tone  too  earnest  to  be  assumed,  it 
seemed  to  the  countess  that  a  celestial  dew  was  dropping  upon 
her  pecuniary  wounds.  Her  countenance  was  radiant  with 
joy;  her  fierce  little  eyes  beamed  with  the  most  encouraging 
tenderness;  her  thin  lips  were  wreathed  in  the  most  friendly 
smiles. 

One  thought  disturbed  the  young  engineer. 

"  Does  she  understand  me  seriously?"  he  thought. 

She  certainly  did,  as  her  subsequent  remarks  proved.  He 
saw  that  the  would-be  sentimental  old  lady  had  an  eye  to 
business. 

"  Alas!'*  she  sighed,  "  La  Verberie  can  not  be  saved  by 
forty  thousand  francs;  tho  principal  and  interest  of  the  debt 
amount  to  sixty  thousand. " 


192  PILE    NO.    113. 

"  Oh,  either  forty  or  sixty  thousand  is  not  worth  speakizig 

*'  Four  thousand  francs  is  not  enough  to  support  a  lady  re- 
spectably,'' she  said,  after  a  pause.  "  Everything  is  so  deai 
in  this  section  of  the  country.'  But  with  six  thousand  francs 
— ^yes,  six  thousand  francs  would  make  me  happy!" 

The.  young  man  thought  that  her  demands  were  becoming 
^cessive;  but  with  the  generosity  of  an  ardent  lover,  he  said: 

"  The  son-in-law  of  whom  we  are  speaking  can  not  be  very 
devoted  to  Mademoiselle  Valentine,  if  the  paltry  sum  of  two 
thousand  francs  were  objected  to  for  an  instant. " 

"  You  promise  too  much!*'  muttered  the  countess. 

"  Tiie  imaginary  son-in-law,"  she  finally  added,  "  must  be 
an  honorable  man  who  will  fulfill  his  promises.  I  have  my 
daughter's  happiness  too  much  at  heart  to  give  her  to  a  man 
who  did  not  produce — what  do  you  call  them? — securities, 
guarantees." 

"  Decidedly,"  thought  Fauvel,  with  mortification,  **  we  f;?^ 
making  a  bargain  and  sale." 

Then  he  said  aloud: 

"  Of  course  your  son-in-law  would  bind  himself  in  the  mar- 
riage contract  to — " 

*'  Never!  monsieur,  never!  Put  such  an  agreement  in  the 
marriage  contract!  Think  of  the  impropriety  of  the  thing! 
What  would  the  world  say?" 

"  Permit  me,  madame,  to  suggest  that  your  pension  should 
be  mentioned  as  the  interest  of  a  sum  acknowledged  to  have 
been  received  from  you." 

"  Well,  that  might  do  very  well;  that  is  very  proper." 

The  countess  insisted  upon  taking  Andre  home  in  her  car- 
riage. During  the  drive,  no  definite  plan  was  agreed  upon  be- 
tween them ;  but  they  understood  each  other  so  well,  that,  when 
the  countess  set  the  young  engineer  down  at  his  own  door,  she 
invited  him  to  dinner  the  next  day,  and  held  out  her  skinny 
hand  which  Andre  kissed  with  devotion,  as  he  thought  of  the 
rosy  fingers  of  Valentine. 

When  Mme.  de  la  Verberie  returned  home,  the  servants  were 
dumb  with  astonishment  at  her  good  humor;  they  had  not  seen 
her  in  this  happy  frame  of  mind  for  years. 

And  her  day's  work  was  of  a  nature  to  elevate  her  spirits; 
she  had  been  unexpectedly  raised  from  poverty  to  affluence. 
She,  who  boasted  of  such  proud  sentiments,  never  stopped  to 
think  of  the  infamy  of  the  transaction  in  which  she  had  been 
engaged;  it  seemed  quite  right  in  her  selfish  eyes. 

''  A  pension  of  six  thousand  francs!"  she  thought,  '*  and  a 


FILE    NO.    113.  193 

thousand  crowns  from  the  estate,  that  makes  nine  thousand 
francs  a  year!  My  daughter  with  live  in  Paris  after  she  is 
married,  and  I  can  spend  the  winters  with  my  dear  children 
without  expense." 

At  this  price,  she  would  have  sold,  not  only  one,  but  three 
daughters,  it*  she  had  possessed  them. 

But  suddenly  her  blood  ran  cold  at  a  sudden  thought 
which  crossed  her  mind. 

*'  Would  Valentine  consent?" 

Her  anxiety  to  set  her  mind  at  rest  sent  her  straightway  to 
her  daughter's  room.  She  found  Valentine  reading  by  the 
light  of  a  flickering  candle. 

"  My  daughter,''  she  said,  abruptly,  *'  an  estimable  young 
man  has  demanded  your  hand  in  marriage,  and  I  have  prom- 
ised it  to  him. " 

On  this  startling  announcement,  Valentine  started  up  and 
clasped  her  hands. 

"Impossible!"  she  murmured,  ** impossible!" 

"  Will  you  be  good  enough  to  explain  why  it  is  impossible." 

*'  Did  you  tell  him,  mother,  who  I  am,  and  what  I  am?  Did 
you  confess — " 

*'  Your  past  folly?  No,  thank  God,  I  am  not  fool  enough 
for  that,  and  I  hope  you  will  have  the  sense  to  imitate  my  ex- 
ample, and  keep  silent  on  the  subject." 

Although  Valentine's  spirit  was  completely  crushed  by  her 
mother's  tyranny,  her  sense  of  honor  made  her  revolt  against 
this  demand. 

"  You  certainly  would  not  wish  me  to  marry  an  honest  man, 
mother,  without  confessing  to  him  everything  connected  with 
the  past?     I  could  never  practice  a  deception  so  base." 

The  countess  felt  very  much  like  flying  into  a  passion;  but 
she  knew  that  threats  would  be  of  no  avail  in  this  instance, 
where  resistance  would  be  a  duty  of  conscience  with  her  daugh- 
ter.    Instead  of  commanding,  she  entreated. 

"Poor  child,"  she  said,  "my  poor  dear  Valentine,  if  you 
pnly  knew  the  dreadful  state  of  our  affairs,  you  would  not  talk 
in  this  heartless  way.  Your  folly  commenced  our  ruin;  now, 
it  is  at  its  last  stage.  Do  you  know  that  our  creditors  threat- 
en to  drive  us  away  from  La  Verberie?  Then  what  will  be- 
come of  us,  my  poor  child?  Must  I  in  my  old  age  go  beg- 
ging from  door  to  door?  We  are  on  the  verge  of  rum,  and 
this  marriage  is  our  only  hope  of  salvation. " 

These  tearful  entreaties  were  followed  by  plausible  argn- 
ments. 

The  fair-spoken  countess  rnnde  nse  of  strange  and  eabtle 


194  FILE    NO.    113. 

theories.     What  she  formerly  regarded  ag  a  monstroHS  crime, 

she  now  spoke  of  as  a  peccadillo. 

She  could  understand,  she  said,  her  daughter's  scruples  if 
there  were  auy  danger  of  the  past  being  brought  to  light;  but 
she  had  taken  such  precautions  that  there  was  no  fear  of  that 

Would  it  make  her  love  her  husband  any  the  less.''  No. 
Would  he  be  made  any  happier  for  hearing  that  she  had  loved 
before?     No.     Then  why  say  anything  about  the  past? 

Shocked,  bewildered,  Valentine  asked  herself  if  this  was 
really  her  mother?  The  haughty  woman,  who  had  always 
been  such  a  worshiper  of  honor  and  duty,  to  contradict  every 
word  she  had  uttered  during  her  life!  Valentine  could  not 
understand  the  sudden  change. 

But  she  would  have  understood  it,  had  she  known  to  what 
base  deeds  a  mind  blunted  by  selfishness  and  vanity  can  lend 
itself. 

The  countess's  subtle  arguments  and  shameful  sophistry 
neither  moved  nor  convinced  her;  but,  she  had  not  the  cour- 
age to  resist  the  tearful  entreaties  of  her  motheT,  who  ended  by 
faUing  on  her  knees,  and  with  clasped  hands  imploring  her 
child  to  save  her  from  worse  than  death. 

Violently  agitated,  distracted  by  a  thousand  conflicting 
emotions,  daring  neither  to  refuse  nor  to  promise,  fearing  the 
consequences  of  a  decision  thus  forced  from  her,  the  un- 
happy girl  begged  her  mother  for  a  few  hours  to  reflect. 

Mme.  de  la  Verberie  dared  not  refuse  this  request,  and  ac- 
quiesced. 

'*  I  will  leave  you,  my  daughter,"  she  said,  "  and  I  trust 
your  own  heart  will  tell  you  how  to  decide  between  a  useless 
confession,  and  your  mother's  salvation. " 

With  these  words  she  left  the  room,  indignant  but  hopefliL 

And  she  had  grounds  for  hope.  Placed  between  two  obli- 
gations equally  sacred,  equally  binding,  but  diametrically  op- 
posite, Valentine's  troubled  mind  could  no  longer  clearly  dis- 
cern the  path  of  duty.  Could  she  reduce  her  mother  to  want 
and  misery?  Could  she  basely  deceive  the  confidence  and  love 
of  an  honorable  man?  However  she  decided,  her  future  life 
would  be  one  of  suffering  and  remorse. 

Alas!  why  had  she  not  a  wise  and  kind  adviser  to  point  out 
the  right  course  to  pursue,  and  assist  her  in  struggling  against 
evil  influences?  Why  had  she  not  that  gentle,  discreet  friend 
who  had  inspired  her  with  hope  and  courage  in  her  first  dark 
sorrows — Dr.  Eaget? 

Formerly  the  memory  of  Gastoa  had  been  her  gm'ding  star; 


FILE    KO.    113.  198 

now  this  far-off  memory  was  nothing  but  a  faint  mist — a  sort 
of  vanishing  dream. 

In  romance  we  meet  with  heroines  of  lifelong  constancy;  real 
life  produces  no  such  miracles. 

For  a  long  time  Valentine's  mind  had  been  filled  with  the 
image  of  GastoQ.  Yes,  as  the  hero  of  her  dreams  she  dwelt 
fondly  on  his  memory;  but  the  shadows  of  time  had  gradually 
dimmed  the  brilliancy  of  her  idol,  and  now  only  preserved  a 
cold  relic,  over  which  she  sometimes  wept. 

When  she  arose  the  next  morning,  pale  and  weak  from  a 
sleepless,  ^  tearful  night,  she  had  almost  resolved  to  confess 
everything  to  her  suitor. 

But  when  evening  came,  and  she  went  down  to  see  Andre 
Tauvel,  the  presence  of  her  mother's  threatening,  supplicating 
eye  destroyed  her  courage. 

She  said  to  herself:  "I  will  tell  him  to-morrow.''  Then 
she  said:  "I  will  wait  another  day;  one  more  day  can  make 
no  difference.*' 

The  countess  saw  all  these  struggles,  but  was  not  made  un- 
easy by  them. 

She  knew  by  experience  that,  when  a  painful  duty  is  put  off, 
it  is  never  performed. 

There  was  some  excuse  for  Valentine  in  the  horror  of  her 
situation.  Perhaps,  unknown  to  herself,  she  felt  a  faint  hope 
arise  within  her.  Any  marriage,  even  an  unhappy  one,  offered 
the  prospect  of  a  change,  of  a  new  life,  a  relief  from  the  in- 
supportable suffering  she  was  now  enduring. 

Sometimes,  in  her  ignorance  of  human  life,  she  imagined 
that  time  and  close  intimacy  would  make  it  easier  for  her  to 
confess  her  terrible  fault;  that  it  would  be  the  most  natural 
thing  in  the  world  for  Andre  to  pardon  her,  and  insist  upoU 
marrying  her,  since  he  loved  her  so  deeply. 

That  he  sincerely  loved  her,  she  knew  full  well.  It  was  not 
the  impetuous  passion  of  Gaston,  with  its  excitements,  and  ter- 
rors, but  a  calm,  steady  affection,  more  lasting  than  the  in- 
toxicating love  of  Gaston  was  ever  likely  to  be.  She  felt  a 
sort  of  blissful  rest  in  its  legitimacy  and  constancy. 

Thus  Valentine  gradually  became  accustomed  to  Andre's 
soothing  presence,  and  was  surprised  into  feeling  very  happy 
at  the  constant  delicate  attentions  and  looks  of  affection  that 
he  lavished  upon  her.  She  did  not  feel  any  love  for  him  yet, 
but  a  separation  would  have  distressed  her  deeply. 

During  the  courtship  the  countess's  conduct  was  a  master- 
piece. 

She  suddenly  ceased  to  importune  her  daughter,  and  with 


196  FILE    NO.    113. 

tearful  resignation  said  she  would  not  attempt  to  influence  hei- 
decision,  that  her  happy  settlement  in  life  was  the  only  anxiety 
that  weighed  upon  her  mind. 

But  she  went  about  the  house  sighing  and  groaning  as  if  she 
were  upon  the  eve  of  starving  to  death.  She  also  made 
arrangements  to  be  torment;ed  by  the  bailiffs.  Attachments 
and  notices  to  quit  poured  in  at  La  Verberie,  which  she  would 
show  to  Valentine,  and,  with  tears  in  her  eyes,  say: 

"  6od  grant  we  may  not  be  driven  from  the  home  of  oar 
ancestors  before  your  marriage,  my  darling!** 

Knowing  that  her  presence  was  sufficient  to  freeze  any  con- 
fession on  her  daughter's  lips,  she  never  left  her  alone  with 
Andre. 

*'  Once  married,"  she  thought,  "  they  can  settle  the  matter 
to  suit  themselves.     I  shall  not  then  be  disturbed  by  it." 

She  was  as  impatient  as  Andre,  and  hastened  the  prepara- 
tions for  the  wedding.  She  gave  Valentine  no  opportunity  for 
reflection.  She  kept  her  constantly  busy,  either  in  driving  to 
town  to  purchase  some  article  of  dress,  or  in  paying  visits. 

At  last  the  eve  of  the  wedding-day  found  her  anxious  and 
oppressed  with  fear  lest  something  should  prevent  the  consum- 
mation of  her  hopes  and  labors.  She  was  like  a  gambler  who 
had  ventured  his  last  stake. 

On  this  night,  for  the  first  time,  Valentine  found  herself 
alone  with  the  man  who  was  to  become  her  husband. 

She  was  sitting  at  twilight,  in  the  parlor,  miserable  and 
trembling,  anxious  to  unburden  her  mind,  and  yet  frightened 
at  the  very  thought  of  doing  so,  when  Andre  entered.  Seeing 
that  she  was  agitated,  he  pressed  her  hand,  and  gently  begged 
her  to  tell  him  the  cause  of  her  sorrow. 

'*  Am  I  not  your  best  friend,'*  he  said,  "  and  ought  I  not  to 
be  the  confidant  of  your  troubles,  if  you  have  any?  Why  these 
tears,  my  darling?** 

Now  was  the  time  for  her  to  confess,  and  throw  herself  upon 
his  generosity.  But  her  trembling  lips  refused  to  open  when 
she  thought  of  his  pain  and  anguish,  and  the  anger  of  her 
mother,  which  would  be  caused  by  the  few  words  she  should 
utter.  She  felt  that  it  was  too  late;  and,  bursting  into  tears, 
she  cried  out,  "  I  am  afraid —     What  shall  I  do?'* 

Imagining  that  she  was  merely  disturbed  by  the  vague  fears 
experienced  by  most  young  girls  when  about  to  marry,  he 
tried,  with  tender,  loving  words,  to  console  and  reassure  her, 
promising  to  shield  her  from  every  care  and  sowow,  if  she 
would  only  trust  to  his  devoted  love.  But  what  was  his  sur- 
prise to  find  that  his  affectionate  words  only  increased  her  dia* 


FILE    NO.    113.  191 

tress;  she  buried  her  face  in  her  hands,  and  wept  as  if  her 
heart  would  break. 

While  she  was  thus  summoning  her  courage,  and  he  waa 
entreating  her  confidence,  Mme.  de  la  Verberie  came  hurrying 
into  the  room  for  them  to  sign  the  contract. 

The  opportunity  was  lost;  Andre  Fauvel  was  left  in  igno- 
rance. 

The  next  day,  a  lovely  spring  morning,  Andre  Fauvel  and 
Valentine  de  la  Verberie  were  married  at  the  village  church. 

Early  in  the  morning,  the  chdteau  was  filled  with  the  bride^a 
friends,  who  came,  according  to  custom,  to  assist  at  her  wed- 
ding toilet. 

Valentine  forced  herself  to  appear  calm,  even  smiling;  but 
her  face  was  whiter  than  her  veil;  her  heart  was  torn  by  re- 
morse; she  felt  as  though  the  sad  truth  were  written  upon  her- 
brow;  and  this  pure  white  dress  was  a  bitter  irony,  a  galling 
humiliation. 

She  shuddered  when  her  most  intimate  school-mate  placed 
the  wreath  of  orange-blossoms  upon  her  head.  These  emblems 
of  purity  seemed  to  burn  her  like  a  band  of  red-hot  iron.  One 
of  the  wire  stems  of  the  flowers  scratched  her  forehead,  and  a 
drop  of  blood  fell  upon  her  snowy  robe. 

What  an  evil  omen!  Valentine  was  near  fainting  when  she 
thought  of  the  past  and  the  future  connected  by  this  sign  of 
woe. 

But  presages  are  deceitful,  as  it  proved  with  Valentine,  for 
she  became  a  happy  woman  and  a  loving  wife. 

Yes,  at  the  end  of  her  first  year  of  married  life,  she  con- 
fessed to  herself  that  her  happiness  would  be  complete  if  she 
could  onl}''  forget  the  terrible  past. 

Andre  adored  her.  He  had  been  wonderfully  successful  in 
his  business  affairs;  he  wished  to  be  immensely  rich,  not  for 
himself,  but  for  the  sake  of  his  beloved  wife,  Avhoni  he  would 
surround  with  every  luxury.  He  thought  her  ths  most  beau- 
tiful woman  in  Paris,  and  determined  that  she  should  be  the 
most  superbly  dressed. 

Eighteen  months  after  her  marriage,  Mme.  Fauvel  present- 
ed her  husband  with  a  son.  But  neither  this  child,  nor  a 
second  son  born  a  year  after,  could  make  her  forget  the  first 
one  of  all,  the  poor,  forsaken  babe  who  had  been  thrown  upon 
Btrangers,  mercenaries,  who  valued  the  money,  but  not  the 
child  for  whom  it  was  paid. 

She  would  look  at  her  two  sons,  surrounded  by  every  luxury 
which  money  could  give,  and  murmur  to  herself: 

*'  Who  knows  if  the  abandoned  one  has  bread  to  eat?*' 


198  FILE    NO.    113. 

If  she  only  knew  where  he  was;  if  she  only  dared  mquirel 
But  she  was  afraid. 

Sometimes  she  would  be  uneasy  about  Gaston's  jewels,  con* 
Btantly  fearing  that  their  hiding-place  would  be  discovered. 
Then  she  would  think,  "  I  may  as  well  be  tranquil;  misfortune 
has  forgotten  me. " 

Poor,  deluded  woman!  Misfortune  is  a  visitor  who  some- 
times  delays  his  visits,  but  always  comes  in  the  end. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

Louts  de  Clameran,  the  second  son  of  the  marquis,  was 
one  of  those  self-controlled  men,  who  beneath  a  cool,  careless 
manner,  conceal  a  fiery  temperament  and  ungovernable  pas- 
8ions. 

All  sorts  of  extravagant  ideas  had  begun  to  ferment  in  his 
disordered  brain,  long  before  the  occurrence  which  decided  the 
destiny  of  the  Clameran  family. 

Apparently  occupied  in  the  pursuit  of  pleasure,  this  preco- 
cious hypocrite  longed  for  a  larger  field  in  which  to  indulge 
his  evil  inclinations,  secretly  cursing  the  stern  necessity  which 
chained  him  down  to  this  dreary  country  life,  and  the  old 
chateau,  which  to  him  was  more  gloomy  than  a  prison,  and  as 
lifeless  as  the  grave. 

This  existence,  dragged  out  in  the  country  and  the  small 
neighboring  towns  was  too  monotonous  for  his  restless  nature. 
The  paternal  authority,  though  so  gently  exercised,  exasperated 
his  rebellious  temper.  He  thirsted  for  independence,  riches, 
excitement,  and  all  the  unknown  pleasures  that  pall  upon  the 
sense  simultaneously  with  their  attainment. 

Louis  did  not  love  his  father,  and  he  hated  his  brother  Gas- 
ton. 

Th«  old  marquis,  in  his  culpable  thoughtlessness,  had  kin- 
dled this  burning  envy  in  the  heart  of  his  second  son. 

A  strict  observer  of  traditional  rights,  be  had  always  declared 
that  the  eldest  son  of  a  noble  house  should  inherit  all  the 
family  possessions,  and  that  he  intended  to  leave  Gaston  his 
entire  fortune. 

This  flagrant  injustice  and  favoritism  inspired  Louis  with 
envious  hatred  for  his  brother. 

Gaston  always  said  that  he  would  never  consent  to  profit  by 
this  paternal  partiality,  but  would  share  equally  with  his 
brother.  Judging  others  by  himself,  Louis  placed  no  faith  in 
this  assertion,  which  he  called  an  ostentatious  affectation  of 
generosity. 


FILE    NO.    113.  199 

Although  this  hatred  was  unsuspected  by  the  marquis  and 
Gaston,  it  was  betrayed  by  acts  significant  enough  to  attract 
the  attention  of  the  servants,  who  often  commented  upon  it. 

They  were  so  fully  aware  of  Louis's  sentiments  toward  his 
brother,  that,  when  he  was  prevented  from  escaping  because  of 
the  stumbling  horse,  they  refused  to  believe  it  an  accident; 
and,  whenever  Louis  came  near  would  mutter  "  Fratricide!" 

A  deplorable  scene  took  place  between  Louis  and  St.  Jean, 
who  was  allowed,  on  account  of  his  fifty  years'  faithful  service, 
to  take  liberties,  which  he  sometimes  abused  by  making  rough 
speeches  to  his  superiors. 

"  It  is  a  great  pity,'*  said  the  old  servant,  "  that  a  skillful 
rider  like  yourself  should  have  fallen  at  the  very  moment  when 
your  brother's  life  depended  upon  your  horsemanship." 

At  this  broad  insinuation,  Louis  turned  pale,  and  threaten- 
ingly cried  out: 

"  You  insolent  dog,  what  do  you  mean?" 

'*  You  know  well  enough  what  I  mean,  monsieur,"  the  old 
man  replied,  significantly. 

"  I  do  not  know!  Explain  your  impertinence:  speak,  I  tell 
you!" 

The  man  only  answered  by  a  meaning  look,  which  so  ii> 
censed  Louis,  that  he  rushed  toward  him  with  upraised  whip, 
and  would  have  beaten  him  unmercifully,  had  not  the  other 
servants  interfei'ed,  and  dragged  St.  Jean  from  the  spot. 

This  altercation  occurred  while  Gaston  was  in  the  madder- 
field  trying  to  escape  his  pursuers. 

After  awhile  the  gendarmes  and  hussars  returned,  with  slow 
tread  and  sad  faces,  to  say  that  Gaston  de  Clameran  had 
plunged  into  the  Rhone,  and  was  instantly  drowned. 

This  melancholy  news  was  received  with  groans  and  tears  by 
every  one  save  Louis,  who  remained  calm  and  unmoved:  not 
a  single  muscle  of  his  face  quivered. 

But  his  eyes  sparkled  with  triumph.  A  secret  voice  cried 
within  him,  "  Now  you  are  assured  of  the  family  fortune,  and 
a  marquis's  coronet." 

He  was  no  longer  the  poverty-stricken  younger  son,  but  the 
dole  heir  of  the  Clamerans. 

The  corporal  of  the  gendarmes  had  said: 

*'  I  would  not  be  the  one  to  tell  the  poor  old  man  that  hia 
Bon  is  drowned." 

Louis  felt  none  of  the  tender-hearted  scruples  of  the  brav© 
old  soldier.  He  instantly  went  to  his  father's  sick-room,  and 
Baid,  in  a  firm  voice:. 


200  FILE  NO.  im^ 

*'  My  brother  had  to  choose  between  disgrace  and  death;  ht 
is  clead. " 

Like  a  sturdy  oak  stricken  by  lightning,  the  marqnis  tot- 
tered and  fell  when  these  fatal  words  sounded  in  his  ears.  The 
doctor  soon  arrived,  but,  alas!  only  to  say  that  science  was  of 
no  avail. 

Toward  day-break,  Louis,  without  a  tear,  received  his 
father's  last  sigh. 

Louis  was  now  the  master. 

All  the  unjust  precautions  taken  by  the  marquis  to  elude  the 
law,  and  insure  beyond  dispute  the  possession  of  his  entire 
fortune  to  his  eldest  son,  turned  against  him. 

By  means  of  a  fraudulent  deed  of  trust  drawn  by  his  dishon- 
est lawyer,  M.  de  Clameran  had  disposed  everything  so  that, 
on  the  day  of  his  death,  every  farthing  he  owned  would  be  Gas- 
ton's. 

Louis  alone  was  benefited  by  this  precaution.  He  came  into 
possession  without  even  being  called  upon  for  the  certificate 
of  his  brother's  death. 

lie  was  now  Marquis  of  Clameran;  he  was  free,  he  was  com- 
paratively rich.  He  who  had  never  had  twenty-five  crowns  in 
his  pocket  at  once,  now  found  himself  the  possessor  of  two 
hundred  thousand  francs. 

This  sudden,  unexpected  fortune  so  completely  turned  his 
head  that  he  forgot  his  skillful  dissimulation.  His  demeanor 
at  the  funeral  of  the  marquis  was  much  censured.  He  fol- 
lowed tlie  coffin,  M'ith  his  head  bowed  and  his  face  buried  in  a 
handkerchief;  but  this  did  not  conceal  the  buoyancy  of  his 
spirit,  and  the  joy  which  sparkled  in  his  eyes. 

The  day  after  the  funeral,  Louis  sold  everything  that  conld 
be  disposed  of,  horses,  carriages,  and  family  plate. 

The  next  day  he  discharged  all  the  old  servants  who  had 
hoped  to  end  their  days  beneath  the  hospitable  roof  of  Clame- 
ran. Several,  with  tears  in  their  eyes,  took  him  aside,  and 
entreated  him  to  let  them  stay  without  wages.  He  roughly 
ordered  them  to  be  gone,  and  never  appear  before  his  eyes 
again. 

He  sent  for  his  father's  lawyer,  and  gave  him  a  power  of 
attorney  to  sell  the  estate,  and  received  in  return  the  sum  of 
twenty  thousand  francs  as  the  first  payment  in  advance. 

At  the  close  of  the  week,  he  locked  up  the  chdteau,  with  a 
vow  never  to  cross  its  sill  again,  and  left  the  keys  in  the  keep- 
ing of  St.  Jean,  who  owned  a  little  house  near  Clameran,  and 
would  continue  to  live  in  the  neighborhood. 

Poor  St.  Jean!  little  did  he  think,  that,  in  preventing  Val- 


--^■^"^^^ 


entine  from  seeing  Louis,  he  had  rained  the, prospects  of  hia 
beloved  Gaston.  ^'"'' 


On  receiving  the  keys  he a^BMbut  one  qNestion : 
"  Shall  we  not  search  for  your  brother's  body.  Monsieur  the 
Marquis?''  he  inquired,  in  broken-hearted  tones.     "  And,  if  it 
is  found,  what  must  be  done  with  it?" 

"  I  shall  leave  instructions  with  my  notary,"  replied  Louis. 
And  he  hurried  away  from  Olameran  as  if  the  ground  burned 
his  feet.  He  went  to  Tarascon,  where  he  had  already  for- 
warded his  baggage,  and  took  the  stage-coach  which  traveled 
between  Marseilles  and  Paris,  the  railroad  not  yet  being 
finished. 

At  last  he  was  off.  The  lumbering  old  stage  rattled  along, 
drawn  by  six  horses;  and  the  deep  gullies  made  by  the  wheels 
seemed  so  many  abysses  between  the  past  and  the  future. 

Lying  back  in  a  corner  of  the  stage,  Louis  de  Clameran  en- 
joyed in  anticipation  the  fields  of  pleasure  spread  before  his 
dazzled  eyes.  At  the  end  of  the  journey,  Paris  rose  up  before 
him,  radiant,  brilliantly  dazzling  as  the  sun. 

Yes,  he  was  going  to  Paris,  the  promised  land,  the  city  of 
wonders,  where  every  Aladdin  finds  a  lamp.  There  all  ambi- 
tions are  crowned,  all  dreams  realized,  all  passions,  all  desires, 
good  and  evil,  can  be  satisfied. 

There  the  fast-fleeting  days  are  followed  by  nights  of  ever- 
varied  pleasure  and  excitement.  In  twenty  theaters  tragedy 
weeps,  or  comedy  laughs;  whilst  at  the  opera,  the  most  beau- 
tiful women  in  the  world,  sparkling  with  diamonds,  are  ready 
to  die  with  ecstasy  at  the  sound  of  divine  music;  everywhere 
noise,  excitement,  luxury,  and  pleasure. 

What  a  dream !    The  heart  of  Louis  de  Clameran  was  swell- 
ed with  desire,  and  he  felt  that  he  should  go  mad,  if  the 
horses  crawled  with  such  torturing  slowness;  he  would  like  to 
,  spring  from  the  old  stage,  and  fly  to  his  haven  of  delight. 

He"  never  once  thought  of  the  past  with  a  pang  of  regret. 
What  mattered  it  to  him  how  his  father  and  brother  had  died? 
All  his  energies  were  devoted  to  penetrating  the  mysterious 
future  that  awaited  him. 

Was  not  every  chance  in  his  favor?  He  was  young,  rich, 
handsome,  and  a  marquis.  He  had  a  constitution  of  iron;  he 
carried  twenty  thousand  francs  in  his  pocket,  and  would  soon 
have  ten  times  as  many  more. 

He,  who  had  always  been  poor,  regarded  this  sum  as  an  ex- 
haustless  treasure. 

And  at  nightfall,  when  he  jumped  from  the  stage  upon  the 
brilUantly  lighted  street  of  Paris,  he  seemed  to  be  takmg  pes* 


802  FILE    NO.    113. 

session  of  the  grand  city,  and  felt  as  though  he  could  buj 
everything  in  it. 

His  illusions  were  those  natural  to  all  young  'men  who  sud- 
denly come  into  possession  of  a  patrimony  after  years  of  priva- 
tion. 

It  is  this  ignorance  of  the  real  value  of  money,  that  squan- 
ders fortunes  and  fritters  away  accumulated  patrimonies  so 
laboriously  earned  and  saved  in  the  frugal  provinces. 

Imbued  with  his  own  importance,  accustomed  to  the  defer- 
ence of  the  country  people,  the  young  marquis  came  to  Paris 
with  the  expectation  of  being  a  lion,  supposing  that  his  name 
and  fortune  were  sufficient  to  place  him  upon  any  pinnacle  he 
might  desire. 

He  was  mortified  to  discover  his  error.  To  his  surprise  he 
discovered  that  he  possessed  nothing  which  constituted  a 
position  in  this  immense  city.  He  found  that  in  the  midst  of 
this  busy,  indifferent  crowd,  he  was  lost,  as  unnoticed  as  a 
drop  of  water  in  a  torrent. 

But  this  unflattering  reality  could  not  discourage  a  man  who 
was  determined  to  gratify  his  passion  at  all  costs.  His  ances- 
tral name  gained  him  but  one  privilege,  disastrous  for  his 
future;  it  opened  to  him  the  doors  of  the  Faubourg  St,  Ger- 
main. 

There  he  became  intimate  with  men  of  his  own  age  and 
rank,  whose  incomes  were  larger  than  his  principal. 

Nearly  all  of  them  confessed  that  they  only  kept  up  their 
extravagant  style  of  living  by  dint  of  skillful  economy  behind 
the  scenes,  and  by  regulating  their  vices  and  follies  as  judi- 
ciously as  a  hosier  would  manage  his  Sunday  holidays. 

This  information  astonished  Louis,  but  did  not  open  his 
eyes.  He  endeavored  to  imitate  the  dashing  style  of  these 
economically  wasteful  young  men,  without  pretending  to  con- 
form to  their  prudential  rules.  He  learned  how  to  spend,  but 
not  to  settle  his  accounts  as  they  did. 

He  was  Marquis  of  Clameran,  and,  having  given  himself  a 
reputation  of  great  wealth,  he  was  welcomed  by  the  elite  of 
society;  if  he  made  no  friends,  he  had  at  least  many  acquaint- 
ances. Among  the  set  into  which  he  was  received  immedi- 
ately upon  his  arrival,  he  found  ten  satellites  who  took  pleas- 
ure in  initiating  him  into  the  secrets  of  fashionable  life,  and 
correcting  any  little  provincialisms  betrayed  in  his  manners 
and  conversation. 

He  profited  well  and  quickly  by  their  lessons.  At  the  end 
of  three  months  he  was  fairly  launched;  his  reputation  as  ft 


FILE    NO.    113.  203 

skillful  gambler  and  one  of  the  fastest  men  in  Paris  was  fuUj 
established. 

He  had  rented  handsome  apartments,  with  a  coach-housa 
and  stable  for  three  horses. 

Although  he  only  furnished  this  bachelor's  establishment 
with  what  was  necessary  and  comfortable,  he  found  that  com- 
forts were  very  costly  in  this  instance. 

So  that  the  day  he  took  possession  of  his  apartments,  and 
looked  over  his  bills,  he  made  the  startling  discovery  that  this 
short  apprenticeship  of  Paris  had  cost  him  fifty  thousand 
francs,  one  fourth  of  his  fortune. 

Still  he  clung  to  his  brilliant  friends,  although  in  a  state  of 
inferiority  which  was  mortifying  to  his  vanity,  like  a  poor 
squire  straining  every  nerve  to  make  his  nag  keep  up  with 
blooded  horses  in  a  race. 

Fifty  thousand  francs.  For  a  moment  Louis  had  a  faint 
idea  of  retreating  from  the  scene  of  temptation.  But  what  a 
fall!  No,  he  would  never  be  conquered  by  circumstances. 
Besides,  his  vices  bloomed  and  flourished  in  this  charming  cen- 
ter. He  had  heretofore  considered  himself  fast;  but  the  past 
was  a  state  of  unsophisticated  verdancy,  compared  with  the 
thousand  attractive  sins  in  which  he  now  indulged. 

Then  the  sight  of  suddenly  acquired  fortunes,  and  the  many 
examples  of  the  successful  results  of  hazardous  ventures,  in- 
flamed his  mind,  and  persuaded  him  to  try  his  fortune  in  the 
game  of  speculation. 

He  thought  that  in  this  great,  rich  city,  he  certainly  could 
succeed  in  seizing  a  share  of  the  loaves  and  fishes. 

But  how?  He  had  no  idea,  and  he  did  not  seek  to  find  one. 
He  imagined  that  his  good  fortune  would  some  day  come,  and 
that  all  he  had  to  do  was  to  wait  for  it. 

This  is  one  of  the  errors  which  it  is  time  to  destroy. 

Fortune  is  not  to  be  wasted  upon  idle  fools. 

In  this  furious  race  of  self-interest,  it  requires  great  skill  to 
bestride  the  capricious  mare  called  Opportunity,  and  make  her 
lead  to  the  end  in  view.  Every  winner  must  possess  a  strong 
will  and  a  dexterous  hand.  But  Louis  did  not  devote  much 
thought  to  the  matter.  Like  the  foohsh  man  who  wished  to 
draw  the  prize  without  contributing  to  the  raffle,  he  thought: 

^^Bada  !  opportunity,  chance,  a  rich  marriage  will  put  me  all 
right  again!'* 

The  rich  bride  failed  to  appear,  and  his  last  louis  had  gone 
the  way  of  its  predecessors. 

To  a  pressing  demand  for  money,  his  notary  replied  by  a  re* 


204  FILB   KO.   113. 

'*  Your  lands  are  all  gone/*  he  wrote;  "  you  now  posses! 
nothing  but  the  chateau.  It  is  very  valuable,  but  it  is  difficult, 
if  not  impossible,  to  find  a  purchaser  of  so  large  an  amount  oi 
real  estate,  in  its  present  condition.  I  will  use  every  effort  to 
make  a  good  sale,  and,  if  successful,  will  inform  you  of  the 
fact  immediately."  Louis  was  thunder-struck  at  this  final 
catastrophe,  as  much  surprised  as  if  he  could  have  expected 
any  other  result.     But  what  could  he  do? 

Ruined,  with  nothing  to  look  forward  to,  the  best  course 
was  to  imitate  the  large  number  of  poor  fools  who  each  year 
rise  up,  shine  a  moment,  then  suddenly  disappear. 

But  Louis  could  not  renounce  this  life  of  ease  and  pleasure 
which  he  had  been  leading  for  the  last  three  years.  After 
leaving  his  fortune  on  the  battle  ground,  he  was  willing  to 
leave  the  shreds  of  his  honor. 

He  first  lived  on  the  reputation  of  his  dissipated  fortune;  on 
the  credit  remaining  to  a  man  who  has  spent  much  in  a  short 
space  of  time. 

This  resource  was  soon  exhausted. 

The  day  came  when  his  creditors  seized  all  they  could  lay 
their  hands  upon,  the  last  remains  of  his  opulence,  his  car- 
riages, horses,  and  costly  furniture. 

He  took  refuge  in  a  quiet  hotel,  but  he  could  not  keep  away 
from  the  wealthy  set  whom  he  considered  his  friends. 

He  lived  upon  them  as  he  had  lived  upon  the  tradesmen  who 
furnished  his  supplies.  Borrowing  from  one  louis  up  to 
twenty-five,  from  anybody  who  would  lend  to  him,  he  never 
pretended  to  pay  them.  Constantly  betting,  no  one  ever  saw 
him  pay  a  wager.  He  piloted  all  the  raw  young  men  who  fell 
into  his  hands,  and  utilized,  in  rendering  sliameful  services,  an 
experience  which  had  cost  him  two  hundred  thousand  francs; 
he  was  half  courtier,  half  adventurer.  He  was  not  banished, 
but  was  made  to  cruelly  expiate  the  favor  of  being  tolerated. 
No  one  had  the  least  regard  for  his  feelings,  or  hesitated  to  tell 
him  to  his  face  what  was  thought  of  his  unprincipled  conduct. 

Thus,  when  alone  in  his  little  den,  he  would  give  way  to  fits 
of  violent  rage.  He  had  not  yet  reached  a  state  of  callousness 
to  be  able  to  endure  these  humiliations  without  the  keenest 
torture  to  his  false  pride  and  vanity. 

Envy  and  covetousness  had  long  since  stifled  every  sentiment 
of  honor  and  self-respect  in  his  base  heart.  For  a  few  years 
of  opulence  he  was  ready  to  commit  any  crime. 

And,  though  he  did  not  commit  a  crime,  he  came  very  near 
It,  and  was  the  principal  in  a  disgraceful  affair  of  swindling 


FILE    KO.    113.  205 

and  extortion,  which  raised  such  an  outory  against  him  that  he 
was  obh"ged  to  leave  Paris. 

Count  de  Commarin,  an  old  friend  of  his  father,  hushed  up 
the  matter,  and  furnished  him  with  money  to  take  him  to 
England. 

And  how  did  he  manage  to  live  in  London? 

The  detectives  of  the  most  corrupt  capital  in  existence  were 
the  only  people  who  knew  his  means  of  support. 

Descending  to  the  last  stages  of  vice,  the  Marquis  of  Clame- 
ran  finally  found  his  level  in  a  society  composed  of  shameless 
women  and  gamblers. 

Compelled  to  quit  London,  he  traveled  over  Europe,  with 
no  other  capital  than  his  knavish  audacity,  deep  depravity,  and 
his  skill  at  cards. 

Finally,  in  1865,  he  had  a  run  of  good  luck  at  Homburg, 
and  returned  to  Paris,  where  he  imagined  himself  entirely  for- 
gotten. 

Eighteen  years  had  passed  since  he  left  France. 

The  first  step  which  he  took  on  his  return,  before  even  set- 
tling himself  in  Paris,  was  to  make  a  visit  to  his  old  home. 

Not  that  he  had  any  relative  or  friend  in  that  part  of  the 
country  from  whom  he  could  expect  any  assistance;  but  he 
remembered  the  old  manor,  which  his  notary  had  been  un- 
able to  sell. 

He  thought  that  perhaps  by  this  time  a  purchaser  had  ap- 
peared, and  he  determined  to  go  himself  and  ascertain  how 
much  he  should  receive  for  this  old  chdteau,  which  had  cost 
one  hundred  thousand  francs  in  the  building. 

On  a  beautiful  October  evening  he  reached  Tarascon,  and 
there  learned  that  he  was  still  the  owner  of  the  Chdteau  of 
Clameran.  The  next  morning  he  set  out  on  foot  to  visit  the 
paternal  home,  which  he  had  not  seen  for  twenty-five  years. 

Everything  was  so  changed  that  he  scarcely  recognized  this 
country,  where  he  had  been  born  and  passed  his  youth. 

Yet  the  impression  was  so  strong  that  this  man,  tried  by 
such  varied,  strange  adventures,  for  a  moment  felt  like  retrac- 
ing his  steps. 

He  only  continued  his  road  because  a  secret,  hopeful  voice 
cried  in  him,  "  Onward,  onward!'* — as  if,  at  the  end  of  the 
journey,  was  to  be  found  a  new  life  and  the  long- wished -for 
good  fortune. 

As  Louis  advanced,  the  changes  appeared  less  striking;  he 
began  to  be  familiar  with  the  ground. 

Soon,  through  the  trees,  ho  distinguished  the  village  steeple* 


206  PILE    NO.    113. 

then  the  village  itself,  built  upon  the  gentle  rising  of  a  hill, 
crowned  by  a  wood  of  olive-trees. 

He  recognized  the  first  houses  he  saw;  the  farrier's  shed 
covered  with  ivy,  the  old  parsonage,  and  further  on  the  village 
tavern,  where  he  and  Gaston  used  to  play  billiards. 

In  spite  of  what  he  called  his  scorn  of  vulgar  prejudices,  he 
felt  a  thrill  of  strange  emotion  as  he  looked  on  these  once 
familiar  objects. 

He  could  not  overcome  a  feeling  of  sadness  as  scenes  of  the 
past  rose  up  before  him. 

How  many  events  had  occurred  since  he  last  walked  along 
this  path,  and  received  a  friendly  bow  and  smile  from  every 
villager! 

Then  life  appeared  to  him  like  a  fairy  scene,  in  which  hia 
every  wish  was  gratified.  And  now  he  had  returned,  dis- 
honored, worn  out,  disgusted  with  the  realities  of  life,  still 
tasting  the  bitter  dregs  of  the  cup  of  shame,  stigmatized, 
poverty-stricken  and  friendless,  with  nothing  to  lose,  and 
nothing  to  look  forward  to. 

The  few  villagers  whom  he  met  turned  and  stood  gazing 
after  this  dust-covered  stranger,  and  wondered  who  he  could 
be. 

Upon  reaching  St.  Jean^s  house,  he  found  the  door  open; 
he  walked  into  the  immense  empty  kitchen. 

He  rapped  on  the  table,  and  was  answered  by  a  voice  call- 
ing out: 

"  Who  is  there?" 

The  next  moment  a  man  of  about  forty  years  appeared  in 
the  door-way,  and  seemed  much  surprised  at  finding  a  stranger 
standing  in  his  kitchen. 

'*  What  will  you  have,  monsieur?*'  he  inquired. 

"  Does  not  St.  Jean,  the  old  valet  of  the  Marquis  of  Clame- 
ran..  live  here?" 

"My  father  died  five  years  ago,  monsieur,"  replied  the 
man,  in  a  sad  tone. 

This  news  affected  Louis  painfully,  as  if  he  had  expected 
this  old  man  to  restore  him  some  of  his  lost  youth;  the  last 
link  was  gone.     He  sighed,  and,  after  a  silence,  said: 

"  I  am  the  Marquis  of  Clameran. " 

The  farmer,  at  these  words,  uttered  an  exclamation  of  joy. 
He  seized  Louis's  hand,  and,  pressing  it  with  respectful  affec- 
tion, cried: 

"  You  are  the  marquis!  Alas!"  he  continued,  "  why  is  not 
my  poor  father  alive  to  see  you?  he  would  be  so  happy!  His 
last  words  were  about  his  dear  lUAgters,  and  many  a  time  did 


FILE    NO.    113.  "     '  207 

ie  sigh  and  mourn  at  not  receiving  any  newrs  of  you.  Hft  ia 
beneath  the  sod  now,  after  a  well-spent  life;  but  I,  Joseph,  hia 
son,  am  here  to  taice  his  place,  and  devote  my  life  to  your  serv- 
ice. What  an  honor  it  is  to  have  you  in  my  house!  Ah, 
my  wife  will  be  happy  to  see  you;  she  has  all  her  life  heard  of 
the  Clamerans.^' 

Here  he  ran  into  the  garden,  and  called:  "  Toinette!  I  say, 
Toinette!     Come  here,  quickly!^' 

This  cordial  welcome  delighted  Louis.  So  many  years  had 
gone  by  since  he  had  been  greeted  with  an  expression  of  kind- 
ness, or  felt  the  pleasure  of  a  friendly  hand! 

In  a  few  moments  a  handsome,  dark-eyed  young  woman  en- 
tered the  room,  and  stood  blushing  with  confusion  at  sight  of 
the  stranger. 

"  This  is  my  wife,  monsieur,^  ^  said  Joseph,  leading  her  to- 
ward Louis,  "  but  I  have  not  given  her  time  to  put  on  her 
finery.     This  is  Monsieur  the  Marquis,  Antoinette.'' 

The  farmer's  wife  bowed,  and,  having  nothing  to  say,  grace- 
fully upHfted  her  brow,  upon  which  the  marquis  pressed  a 
kiss. 

"  You  will  see  the  children  in  a  few  minutes.  Monsieur  the 
Marquis,"  said  Joseph;  "  I  have  sent  to  the  school  for  them. " 

The  worthy  couple  overwhelmed  the  marquis  with  atten- 
tions. 

After  so  long  a  walk  he  must  be  hungry,  they  said;  he  must 
take  a  glass  of  wine  now,  and  breakfast  would  soon  be  ready; 
they  would  be  so  proud  and  happy  if  Monsieur  the  Marquis 
would  partake  of  a  country  breakfast! 

Louis  willingly  accepted  their  invitation;  and  Joseph  went 
to  the  cellar  after  the  wine,  while  Toinette  ran  to  catch  her 
fattest  pullet. 

In  a  short  time,  Louis  sat  down  to  a  table  laden  with  the 
best  of  everything  on  the  farm,  waited  upon  by  Joseph  and  his 
wife,  who  watched  him  with  respectful  interest  and  awe. 

The  children  came  running  in  from  school,  smeared  with 
the  juice  of  berries.  After  Louis  had  embraced  them  they 
stood  off  in  a  corner,  and  gazed  at  him  with  eyes  wide  open, 
as  if  he  were  a  rare  curiosity. 

The  important  news  had  spread,  and  a  number  of  villagera 
and  countrymen  appeared  at  the  open  door,  to  speak  to  th© 
Marquis  of  Clameran. 

"  I  am  such  a  one,  Monsieur  the  Marquis;  don't  you  remem- 
ber mer"  "  Ah!  I  should  have  recognized  you  anywhere." 
*'  The  late  marquis  was  very  good  to  me. "    Another  woulcj 


808  FILE    NO.    113. 

gay:  "  Don't  you  remember  the  time  when  you  lent  me  youl 
gun  to  go  hunting?" 

Louis  welcomed  with  secret  deh'ght  all  these  protestation! 
and  proofs  of  demotion  which  l^ad  not  chilled  with  time. 

The  kindly  voices  of  these  honest  people  recalled  many  pleas- 
ant moments  of  the  past,  and  made  him  feel  once  more  the 
fresh  sensations  of  youth. 

Here,  at  least,  no  echoes  of  his  stormy  life  had  been  heard; 
no  suspicions  of  his  shameful  career  were  entertained  by  these 
humole  villagers  on  the  borders  of  the  Rhone. 

He,  the  adventurer,  the  bully,  the  base  accomplice  of  Lon- 
don swindlers,  delighted  in  these  marks  of  respect  and  venera- 
tion, bestowed  upon  him  as  the  representative  of  the  house  of 
Clameran;  it  seemed  to  make  him  once  more  feel  a  little  self- 
respect,  as  if  the  future  were  not  utterly  hopeless. 

Ah,  had  he  possessed  only  a  quarter  of  his  squandered  in- 
heritance, how  happy  he  would  be  to  peacefully  end  his  days 
in  this  his  native  village! 

But  this  rest  after  so  many  vain  excitements,  this  haven 
after  so  many  storms  and  shipwrecks,  was  denied  him.  He. 
was  penniless; -how  could  be  live  here  when  he  had  nothing  to 
live  upon? 

This  thought  of  his  pressing  want  gave  him  courage  to  ask 
Joseph  for  the  keys  of  the  chateau,  that  he  might  go  and  ex- 
amine its  condition. 

"  You  won't  need  any  key,  except  the  one  to  the  front  door. 
Monsieur  the  Marquis,**  replied  Joseph. 

It  was  but  too  true.  Time  had  done  its  work,  and  the  lord- 
ly Manor  of  Clameran  was  nothing  but  a  ruin.  The  rain  and 
sun  had  rotted  the  shutters  so  that  they  were  crumbling  and 
dilapidated. 

Here  and  there  were  traces  of  the  friendly  hand  of  St, 
Jean,  who  had  tried  to  retard  the  total  ruin  of  the  old  chateau; 
but  of  what  use  were  his  efforts? 

Within,  the  desolation  was  still  greater.  All  the  furniture 
which  Louis  had  not  dared  to  sell  stood  in  the  position  he  left  it, 
but  in  what  a  state!  All  of  the  tapestry  hangings  and  coverings 
were  moth-eaten  and  in  tatters;  nothing  seemed  left  but  the 
dust-covered  woodwork  of  the  chairs  and  sofas. 

Louis  was  almost  afraid  to  enter  these  grand,  gloomy 
rooms,  where  every  footfall  echoed  until  the  air  seemed  to  be 
filled  with  sounds  strange  and  ominous. 

He  almost  expected  to  see  the  angry  old  marquis  start  from 
some  dark  corner,  and  heap  curses  on  his  head  for  having  dis 
honored  the  name. 


FILE   NO.   113.  209 

He  turned  pale  with  terror,  whea  he  suddenly  recalled  tht 
scene  of  his  fatal  stumble  and  poor  Gaston's  death.  The  room 
was  surely  inhabited  by  the  spirits  of  those  two  murdered  men. 
His  nerves  could  not  bear  it,  and  he  hurried  into  the  open  aii 
and  sunshine. 

After  awhile  he  recovered  sufficiently  to  remember  the  ob« 
ject  of  his  visit. 

"  Poor  St.  Jean  was  foohsh  to  let  the  furniture  in  the 
chateau  drop  to  pieces.     Why  did  he  not  use  it?^^ 

"  My  father  would  not  have  dared  to  touch  anything  with- 
out receiving  an  order.  Monsieur  the  Marquis. " 

"  He  was  very  unwise  to  wait  for  an  order,  when  anything 
was  going  to  destruction  without  benefiting  any  one.  As  the 
chateau  is  fast  approaching  the  condition  of  the  furniture, 
and  my  fortune  does  not  permit  me  to  repair  it,  I  will  sell  ifc 
before  the  walls  crumble  away.'' 

Joseph  could  scarcely  believe  his  ears.  He  regarded  the 
selling  of  the  Chateau  of  Clameran  as  a  sacrilege;  but  he  was 
not  bold  of  speech,  like  his  father,  so  he  dared  not  express  his 
opinion. 

*'  Would  there  be  difficulty  in  selling  this  ruin?"  continued 
Louis. 

"  That  depends  upon  the  price  you  ask,  Monsieur  the  Mar- 
quis; I  know  a  man  who  would  purchase  the  property  if  he 
could  get  it  cheap. " 

"  Who  is  he?" 

"  Monsieur  Fougeroux,  who  lives  on  the  other  side  of  the 
river.  He  came  from  Beaucaire,  and  twelve  years  ago  married 
a  servant-maid  of  the  late  Countess  de  la  Verberie.  Perhaps 
Monsieur  the  Marquis  remembers  her — a  plump,  bright-eyed 
brunette  name  Mihonne. " 

Louis  did  not  remember  Mihonne. 

**  When  can  we  see  this  Fougeroux?"  he  inquired. 

"  To-day;  I  will  engage  a  boat  to  take  us  over." 

**  Well,  let  us  go  now.     I  have  no  time  to  lose." 

An  entire  generation  had  passed  away  since  Louis  had  last 
crossed  the  Elione  in  old  Pilorel's  boat. 

The  faithful  ferryman  had  been  buried  many  years;  and  his 
duties  were  now  performed  by  his  son,  who,  possessing  great 
respect  for  traditional  opinions,  was  delighted  at  the  honor  of 
rowing  the  Marquis  of  Clameran  in  his  boat,  amd  soon  had  it 
ready  for  Louis  and  Joseph  to  take  their  seats. 

As  soon  as  they  were  fairly  started,  Joseph  began  to  warn 
the  marquis-^gainst  the  wily  Fougeroux. 

'*  He  is  a  cunning  fox,"  said  the  farmer j  **  I  have  had  9 


210  FILE    NO.    113. 

bad  opinion  of  h'lm  ever  since  his  marriage,  which  was  a  shame* 
f  al  affair  altogether.  Mihoune  was  over  fifty  years  of  age,  and 
he  was  only  twenty-four,  when  he  married  her;  so  you  may 
know  it  was  money,  and  not  a  wife  tliat  he  wanted.  She, 
poor  fool,  believei^  that  the  young  scamp  really  loved  her,  and 
^ave  herself  and  her  money  up  to  him.  "Women  will  be  trust- 
mg' fools  to  the  end  of  time!  And  Fougeroux  is  not  the  man 
to  let  money  lie  idle.  He  speculated  with  Mihonne's  gold, 
and  is  now  very  rich.  But  she,  poor  thing,  does  not  profit  by 
his  wealth;  one  can  easily  understand  his  not  feeling  any  love 
for  her,  when  she  looks  like  his  grandmother;  but  he  deprives 
her  of  the  necessaries  of  life,  and  beats  her  cruelly.'* 

*'  He  would  like  to  plant  her  six  feet  under  ground,*'  said 
the  ferryman. 

"  Well,  it  won't  be  long  before  he  has  the  satisfaction  of 
burying  her,**  said  Joseph;  "  the  poor  old  woman  has  been  in 
almost  a  dying  condition  ever  since  Fougeroux  brought  a 
worthless  jade  to  take  charge  of  the  house  and  makes  his  wife 
wait  upon  her  like  a  servant.  ** 

When  they  reached  the  opposite  shore,  Joseph  asked  young 
Pilorel  to  await  their  return. 

Joseph  knocked  at  the  gate  of  the  well-cultivated  farm,  and 
inquired  for  the  master;  the  farm-boy  said  that  "  Monsieur 
Fougeroux  **  was  out  in  the  field,  but  he  would  go  and  tell 
him. 

He  soon  appeared.  He  was  an  ill-looking  little  man,  with 
a  red  beard  and  small  restless  eyes. 

Although  M.  Fougeroux  professed  to  despise  the  nobility 
and  the  clergy,  the  hope  of  driving  a  good  bargain  made  him 
obsequious  to  Louis.  He  insisted  upon  ushering  his  visitor 
Into  the  parlor,**  with  many  bows  and  repetitious  of  "  Mon- 
sieur the  Marquis.** 

Upon  entering  the  room,  he  roughly  ordered  an  old  wom- 
an, who  was  crouching  over  some  dying  embers,  to  make  haste 
and  bring  some  wine  for  Monsieur  the  Marquis  of  Clameran. 

At  this  name,  the  old  woman  started  as  if  she  had  received 
an  electric  shock.  She  opened  her  mouth  to  say  something, 
but  a  look  from  her  tyrant  froze  the  words  upon  her  lips. 
With  a  frightened  air,  she  hobbled  out  to  obey  his  orders,  and, 
in  a  few  minutes,  returned  with  a  bottle  of  wine  and  three 
glasses. 

Then  she  resumed  her  seat  by  the  fire,  and  kept  her  eyes 
fastened  upon  the  marquis. 

Could  this  really  be  the  merry,  pretty  Mihonne,  who  had 
been  the  confidante  of  the  little  fairy  of  Verberief 


FILE   NO.   113.  2H 

Valentine  herself  would  never  have  recognized  this  poor, 
shriveled,  emaciated  old  woman. 

Only  those  who  are  familiar  with  country  life  know  what 
hard  work  and  worry  can  do  to  make  a  woman  old. 

The  bargain,  meanwhile,  was  being  discussed  between  Joseph 
and  Fougeroux,  who  offered  a  ridiculously  small  sum  for  the 
chateau,  saying  that  ho  would  only  buy  it  to  tear  it  down,  and 
sell  the  materials.  Josepli  enumerated  the  beams,  joists, 
ashlars,  and  the  iron-woric,  and  volubly  praised  the  old  domain. 

As  for  Mihonne,  the  presence  of  the  marquis  had  a  wonder- 
ful effect  upon  her. 

If  the  faithful  servant  had  hitherto  never  breathed  the  secret 
confided  to  her  probity,  it  was  none  the  less  heavy  for  her  to 
bear. 

After  marrying,  and  being  so  harshly  treated  that  she  daily 
prayed  for  death  to  come  to  her  relief,  she  began  to  blame 
everybody  but  herself  for  her  misfortunes. 

Weakly  superstitious,  she  traced  back  the  origin  of  her  sor- 
rows to  the  day  when  she  took  the  oath  on  the  holy  gospel  dur- 
ing mass. 

Her  constant  prayers  that  God  would  send  her  a  child  to 
soothe  her  wounded  heart,  being  unanswered,  she  was  con- 
vinced that  she  was  cursed  with  barrenness,  for  having  assisted 
in  the  abandonment  of  an  innocent,  helpless  babe. 

She  often  thought,  that  by  revealing  everything,  she  could 
appease  the  wrath  of  Heaven,  and  once  more  enjoy  a  happy 
home.  Nothing  but  her  love  for  Valentine  gave  her  strength 
to  resist  a  constant  temptation  to  confess  everything. 

But  to-day  the  sight  of  Louis  decided  her  to  relieve  her 
mind.  She  thought  there  could  bono  danger  in  confiding  in 
Gaston's  brother.     Alas  for  woman's  tongue! 

The  sale  was  finally  concluded.  It  was  agreed  that  Fouge- 
roux should  give  five  thousand  two  hundred  and  eighty  francs 
in  cash  for  the  chateau,  and  land  attached;  and  Joseph  was  to 
have  the  old  furniture. 

The  marquis  and  the  new  owner  of  the  chateau  shook  hands, 
and  noisily  called  out  the  essential  word: 

"  Agreed !'' 

Fougeroux  went  himself  to  get  the  bargain  bottle  of  old 
wine. 

The  occasion  was  favorable  to  Mihonne;  she  walked  quickly 
over  to  where  the  marquis  stood,  and  said,  in  a  nervous  whis- 
per: 

**  Monsieur  le  Marquis,  I  must  speak  with  you  apart." 

*'  What  oftn  you  want  to  tell  me,  my  good  woman?" 


213  FILE    NQ    lis. 

*'  It  IS  a  secret  of  life  and  death.  This  evening,  at  dusk, 
meet  me  in  the  wahiut  wood  and  I  will  tell  you  everything." 

Hearing  her  husband's  approaching  step,  she  darted  back  to 
her  corner  by  the  fire. 

Fougeroux  filled  the  glasses,  and  drank  to  the  health  of 
Clameran. 

As  they  returned  to  the  boat,  Louis  tried  to  think  vrhat  could 
be  the  object  of  this  singular  rendezvous. 

"  Joseph,  what  the  deuce  can  that  old  witch  want  of  me?*' 
he  said,  musingly. 

*'Wlio  can  tell?  She  used  to  be  in  the  service  of  a  lady 
who  was  very  intimate  with  Monsieur  Gaston;  so  my  father 
used  to  say.  If  I  were  in  your  place  I  would  go  and  see  what 
she  wanted,  monsieur.  You  can  dine  with  me,  and,  after 
dinner,  Pilorel  will  row  you  over/' 

Curiosity  decided  Louis  to  go,  about  seven  o'clock,  to  the 
walnut  wood,  where  he  found  Mihonne  impatiently  awaiting 
him. 

"  Ah,  here  you  are  at  last,  Monsieur  the  Marquis,"  she  said, 
in  a  tone  of  relief.     "  I  was  afraid  you  would  disappoint  me." 

"  Yes,  here  I  am,  my  good  woman,  to  listen  to  what  you 
have  to  say." 

"  I  have  many  things  to  say.  But  first  tell  me  some  news 
of  your  brother." 

Louits  regretted  having  come,  supposing  from  this  request 
that  the  old  woman  was  childish,  and  might  bother  him  for 
hours  with  her  senseless  gabble. 

"  You  know  well  enough  that  my  poor  brother  was  drowned 
in  the  Rhone." 

"  Good  heavens!"  cried  Mihonne,  *'  are  you  ignorant,  then, 
of  his  escape?  Yes,  he  did  what  has  never  been  done  before; 
he  swatn  across  the  swollen  Ehone.  The  next  day  Made- 
moiselle Valentine  went  to  Clameran  to  tell  the  news,  but  SL 
Jean  prevented  her  seeing  you.  Afterward  I  carried  a  letter 
from  her,  but  you  had  left  tbe  country." 

Louis  could  not  believe  this  strange  revelation. 

"  Are  you  not  mixing  up  dreams  with  real  events,  my  good 
woman?"  he  said,  banteringly. 

"  No,"  she  replied,  mournfully  shaking  her  head.  '*  If 
Pere  Menoul  were  alive,  he  would  tell  you  how  he  took  charge 
of  your  brother  until  he  embarked  for  Marseilles.  But  that  is 
nothing  compared  to  the  rest.    Monsieur  Gaston  had  a  son." 

"  My  brother  had  a  son!  You  certainly  have  lost  your 
mind,  my  poor  woman. " 

**  Alas,  no.     Unfortunately,  for  my  happiness  in  this  world 


FILE    NO.    113.  213 

and  in  the  world  to  come,  I  am  only  telling  the  truth;  he  had 
a  child,  and  Mademoiselle  Valentine  was  its  mother.  I  took 
the  poor  babe,  and  carried  it  to  a  woman  whom  I  paid  to  take 
charge  of  ifc.'^ 

Then  Mihonne  described  the  anger  of  the  countess,  the  jour- 
ney to  London,  and  the  abandonment  of  little  Raoul. 

With  the  accurate  memory  natural  to  people  unable  to  read 
and  write,  she  related  tlie  most  minute  particulars — the  name 
of  the  village,  the  nurse,  the  child's  Christian  name,  and  the 
exact  date  of  everything  which  had  occurred. 

Then  she  told  of  Valentine's  wretched  suffering,  of  the  im- 
pending ruin  of  the  countess,  and  finally  how  everything  was 
happily  settled  by  the  poor  girl's  marriage  with  an  immensely 
rich  man,  who  was  now  one  of  the  richest  bankers  in  Paris, 
and  was  named  Fauvel. 

A  harsh  voice  calUng  "  Mihonne!  Mihonne!'*  here  inter- 
rupted the  old  woman. 

"  Heavens!"  she  cried,  in  a  frightened  tone,  "that  is  my 
husband  looking  for  me." 

And,  as  fast  as  her  trembling  limbs  could  carry  her,  she 
hurried  to  the  farm-house. 

For  several  minutes  after  her  departure,  Louis  sto6d  rooted 
to  the  spot. 

Her  recital  had  filled  his  wicked  mind  with  an  idea  so  in- 
famous, so  detestable,  that  even  his  vile  nature  shrunk  for  a 
moment  from  its  enormity. 

He  knew  Fauvel  by  reputation,  and  was  calculating  the  ad- 
vantages he  might  gain  by  the  strange  information  of  which 
he  was  now  possessed  by  means  of  the  old  Mihonne.  It  was 
a  secret,  which,  if  skillfully  managed,  would  bring  him  in  a 
handsome  income. 

The  few  faint  scruples  he  felt  were  silenced  by  the  thought 
of  an  old  age  spent  in  poverty.  After  the  price  of  the  chateau 
was  spent,  to  what  could  he  look  forward?     Beggary. 

"  But  first  of  all,"  he  thought,  "  I  must  ascertain  the  truth 
of  the  old  woman's  story:  then  I  will  decide  upon  a  plan. " 

This  was  why  the  next  day  after  receiving  the  five  thousand 
two  hundred  and  eighty  francs  from  Louis  de  Fougeroux, 
Clameran  set  out  for  London. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 
DiTEiNG  the  twenty  years  of  her  married  life,  Valentine  had 
experienced  but  one  real  sorrow;  and  this  was  one  which,  ip 
LJ^e  course  of  nature,  must  happen  sooner  or  later. 


214:  PILE    NO.    113. 

In  1859  her  mother  caught  a  violent  cold  duriiig  one  of  het 
frequent  journeys  to  Paris,  and,  in  spite  of  every  attention 
which  money  could  procure,  she  became  worse  and  died. 

The  countess  preserved  her  faculties  to  the  last,  and  with 
her  dying  breath  said  to  her  daughter: 

"Ah,  well!  was  I  not  wise  ia  prevailing  upon  you  to  bur]; 
the  past?  Your  silence  has  made  my  old  age  peaceful  and 
happy,  and  I  now  thank  you  for  having  done  your  duty  ta 
yourself  and  to  me.  You  will  be  rewarded  on  earth  and  in 
neaven,  my  dear  daughter. '' 

Mme.  Fauvel  constantly  said  that,  since  the  loss  of  hei 
mother,  she  had  never  had  cause  to  shed  a  tear. 

And  what  more  could  she  wish  for?  As  years  rolled  on, 
Andrews  love  remained  steadfast;  he  was  as  devoted  a  husband 
as  the  most  exacting  woman  could  wish.  To  his  great  love 
was  added  that  sweet  intimacy  which  results  from  long  con- 
formity of  ideas  and  unbounded  confidence. 

Everything  prospered  with  this  happy  couple.  Andre  was 
twice  as  wealthy  as  ne  had  ever  hoped  to  be,  even  in  his  wildest 
visions;  every  wish  of  Valentine  was  anticipated  by  Andre; 
their  two  sons,  Lucien  and  Abel,  were  handsome,  intelligent 
young  men,  whose  honorable  characters  and  graceful  bearing 
reflected  credit  upon  their  parents,  who  had  so  carefully 
watched  over  their  education. 

Nothing  seemed  wanting  to  insure  Valentine's  felicity. 
"When  her  husband  and  sons  were  at  their  business  her  solitude 
was  cheered  by  the  intelligent,  affectionate  companionship  of  » 
young  girl  whom  she  loved  as  her  own  daughter,  and  who  in 
return  filled  the  place  of  a  devoted  child. 

Madeleine  was  M.  Fauvel 's  niece,  and  when  an  infant  had 
lost  both  parents,  who  were  poor  but  very  worthy  people. 
Valentine  begged  to  adopt  the  babe,  thinking  she  could  thus, 
in  a  measure,  atone  for  the  desertion  of  the  poor  little  creature 
whom  she  had  abandoned  to  strangers. 

She  hoped  that  this  good  work  would  bring  down  the  bless- 
ings of  God  upon  her. 

The  day  of  the  little  orphan's  arrival,  M.  Fauvel  invested 
for  her  ten  thousand  francs,  which  he  presented  to  Madeleine 
as  her  dowry. 

The  banker  amused  himself  by  increasing  this  ten  thousand 
francs  in  the  most  marvelous  ways.  He,  who  never  ventured 
upon  a  rash  speculation  with  his  own  money,  always  invested 
it  in  the  most  hazardous  schemes,  and  was  always  so  success- 
ful, that  at  the  end  of  fifteen  years  the  ten  thousand  francs  h»i 
become  half  a  million. 


JiLE  SO.  113.  218 

People  were  right  when  they  said  the  Fauvel  family  were  to 
he  envied. 

Time  had  dulled  the  remorse  and  anxiety  of  Valentine.  In 
the  genial  atmosphere  of  a  happy  home  she  had  found  rest, 
and  almost  forgetfulness.  She  had  suffered  so  much  at  being 
compelled  to  deceive  Andre,  that  she  hoped  she  was  now  at 
quits  with  fate. 

She  began  to  look  forward  to  the  future,  and  her  youth 
seemed  buried  in  an  impenetrable  mist,  and  was,  as  it  were, 
the  memory  of  a  painful  dream. 

Yes,  she  believed  herself  saved,  and  her  very  feeling  of 
security  made  the  impending  danger  more  fearful  in  its  shock. 
One  rainy  November  day,  her  husband  had  gone  to  Provence 
on  business.  She  was  sitting,  gazing  into  the  bright  fire,  and 
thankfully  meditating  upon  her  present  happiness,  when  the 
servant  brought  her  a  letter,  which  had  been  left  by  a  stranger, 
who  refused  to  give  his  name. 

Without  the  faintest  presentiment  of  evil,  she  carelessly 
broke  the  seal,  and  in  an  instant  was  almost  petrified  by  the 
words  which  met  her  terrified  eye: 

'*  Madame, — Would  it  be,  relying  too  much  upon  the 
memories  of  the  past  to  hope  for  half  an  hour  of  your  time? 

"  To-morrow,  between  two  and  three,  I  will  do  myself  the 
honor  of  calling  upon  you, 

"The  Maequis  of  Clameeait.'' 

Fortunately  Mme.  Fauvel  was  alone. 

Trembling  like  a  leaf,  she  read  the  letter  over  and  over 
again,  as  if  to  convince  herself  that  she  was  not  the  victim  of  a 
horrible  hallucination. 

Half  a  dozen  times,  with  a  sort  of  terror,  she  whispered  that 
name  once  so  dear — Clameran!  spelling  it  aloud,  as  if  it  were 
a  strange  name  which  she  could  not  pronounce.  And  the 
eight  letters  forming  the  name  seemed  to  shine  like  the  light- 
ning which  precedes  a  clap  of  thunder. 

Ah!  she  had  hoped  and  believed  that  the  fatal  past  was 
atoned  for,  and  buried  in  oblivion;  and  now  it  stood  before 
her,  pitiless  and  threatening. 

Poor  woman!  As  if  all  human  will  could  prevent  what  was 
fated  to  be! 

It  was  in  this  hour  of  security,  when  she  imagined  herself 
pardoned,  that  the  storm  was  to  burst  upon  the  fragile  edifice 
of  her  happiness,  and  destroy  her  every  hope. 

A  long  time  passed  before  she  could  collect  her  scattered 
thoughts  sufficiently  to  decide  upon  a  course  of  conduct. 


216  PILE    NO.    113L 

Then  she  began  to  think  she  was  foolish  to  be  so  frightened^ 
This  letter  was  written  by  Gaston,  cf  course;  therefore  she 
need  feel  no  apprehension.  Gaston  had  returned  to  France, 
and  wished  to  see  her.  She  could  understand  this  desire,  and 
she  knew  too  well  this  man,  upon  whom  she  had  lavished  her 
young  affection,  to  attribute  any  bad  motives  to  his  visit. 

He  would  come;  and  finding  her  the  wife  of  another,  the 
mother  of  grown  sons,  they  would  exchange  thoughts  of  the 
past,  perhaps  a  few  regrets;  she  would  restore  the  jewels  which 
she  had  faithfully  kept  for  him;  he  would  assure  her  of  his 
life-long  friendship,  and — that  would  be  all. 

But  one  distressing  doubt  beset  her  agitated  mind.  Should 
she  conceal  from  Gaston  the  birth  of  his  son? 

To  confess  was  to  expose  herself  to  many  dangers.  It  was 
placing  herself  at  the  mercy  of  a  man — a  loyal,  honorable 
man,  to  be  sure — confiding  to  him  not  only  her  own  peace, 
honor,  and  happiness,  but  the  honor  and  happiness  of  her 
family,  of  her  noble  husband  and  loving  sons. 

Still  silence  would  be  a  crime.  She  had  abandoned  her 
child,  denied  him  tbe  cares  and  affection  of  a  mother;  and  now 
should  she  add  to  her  sin  by  depriving  him  of  the  name  and 
fortune  of  his  father? 

She  was  still  undecided  when  the  servant  announced  dinner. 

But  she  had  not  the  courage  to  meet  the  glance  of  her  sons. 
She  sent  word  that  she  was  not  well,  and  would  not  be  down 
to  dinner.  For  the  first  time  in  her  life  she  rejoiced  at  her 
husband's  absence.  Madeleine  came  hurrying  into  her  aunt's 
room  to  see  what  was  the  matter;  but  Valentine  dismissed 
her,  saying  she  would  try  to  sleep  off  her  indisposition. 

She  wished  to  be  alone  in  her  trouble,  and  see  if  she  could 
decide  upon  some  plan  for  warding  off  this  impending  ruin. 

The  dreaded  morrow  came. 

She  counted  the  hours  until  two  o'clock.  After  that,  she 
counted  the  minutes. 

At  half-past  two  the  servant  announced: 

*'  Monsieur  the  Marquis  of  Clameran." 

Mme.  Fauvel  had  promised  herself  to  be  calm,  even  cold. 
During  a  long,  sleepless  night,  she  had  mentally  arranged  be- 
forehand every  detail  of  this  painful  meeting.  She  had  even 
decided  upon  what  she  should  say.  She  would  reply  this,  and 
fisk  that;  her  words  were  all  selected,  and  her  speech  ready. 

But,  at  the  dreaded  moment,  her  strength  gave  way;  she 
turned  as  cold  as  marble,  and  could  not  rise  from  her  seat;  she 
was  speechless,  and  with  a  frightened  look  silently  gazed  upon 


FILE    NO.    113.  217 

the  man  who  respectfully  bowed,  and  stood  in  the  middle  ol 
the  room. 

Her  visitor  was  about  fifty  years  of  age,  with  iron-gray  hair 
and  mustache;  and  a  cold,  severe  cast  of  countenance;  his  ex- 
pression was  one  of  haughty  severity  as  he  stood  there  in  hia 
full  suit  of  black. 

The  agitated  woman  tried  to  discover  in  his  face  some  tracea 
of  the  man  whom  she  had  so  madly  loved,  who  had  pressed  her 
to  his  heart,  and  besought  her  to  remain  faithful  until  he 
should  return  from  a  foreign  land,  and  lay  his  fortune  at  her 
feet — the  father  of  her  son. 

She  was  surprised  to  discover  no  resemblance  to  the  youth 
•7?hose  memory  had  haunted  her  life;  no,  never  would  she 
have  recognized  this  stranger  as  Gaston. 

A's  he  continued  to  stand  motionless  before  her,  she  faintly 
murmured: 

"  Gaston!*' 

He  sadly  shook  his  head,  and  replied: 

"  I  am  not  Gaston,  madame.  My  brother  succumbed  to 
the  misery  and  suffering  of  exile;  I  am  Louis  de  Clameran.** 

What !  it  was  not  Gaston,  then,  who  had  written  to  her;  it 
was  not  Gaston  who  stood  before  her! 

She  trembled  with  terror;  her  head  whirled,  and  her  eyes 
grew  dim. 

It  was  not  he!  And  she  had  committed  herself,  betrayed 
her  secret  by  calling  him  "  Gaston.'* 

Wliat  could  this  man  want? — this  brother  in  whom  Gaston 
had  never  confided?     What  did  he  know  of  the  past? 

A  thousand  probabilities,  each  one  more  terrible  than  the 
other,  flashed  across  her  brain. 

Yet  she  succeeded  in  overcoming  her  weakness  so  that  Louis 
could  scarcely  perceive  it. 

The  fearful  strangeness  of  her  situation,  the  very  imminence 
of  peril,  inspired  her  with  coolness  and  self-possession. 

Haughtily  pointing  to  a  chair,  she  said  to  Louis,  with 
affected  indifference: 

'*  Will  you  be  kind  enough,  monsieur,  to  explain  the  object 
of  this  unexpected  visit?" 

The  marquis,  seeming  not  to  notice  this  sudden  change  of 
manner,  took  a  seat  without  removing  his  eyes  from  Mme. 
Fauvel's  face. 

"  First  of  all,  madame,'*  he  began,  "  I  must  ask  if  we  can 
be  overheard  by  any  one?*'* 

*'  Why  this  question?  You  can  have  nothing  to  say  to  m^ 
that  my  husband  and  children  should  not  hear.** 


218  FILE    KO.    113. 

Louis  shruffged  his  shoulders,  and  said: 

"  Be  good  euough  to  answer  me,  madame;  not  for  my  8ak«k 
but  for  your  own/' 

*'  Speak,  then,  monsieur;  you  "will  not  be  heard." 

In  spite  of  this  assurance,  the  marquis  drew  his  chair  closfl 
to  the  sofa  where  Mme.  Fauvel  sat,  so  as  to  speak  in  a  very 
low  tone,  as  if  almost  afraid  to  hear  his  own  voice. 

*'  As  I  told  you,  madame,  Gaston  is  dead;  and  it  was  I  who 
closed  his  eyes,  and  received  his  last  wishes.  Do  you  nnder- 
stand?'' 

The  poor  woman  understood  only  too  well,  but  was  racking 
her  brain  to  discover  what  could  be  the  purpsoe  of  this  fatal 
visit.     Perhaps  it  was  only  to  claim  Gaston's  jewels. 

"  It  is  unnecessary  to  recall,"  continued  Louis,  "  the  pain- 
ful circumstances  which  blasted  my  brother's  life.  However 
happy  your  own  lot  has  been,  you  must  sometimes  have  thought 
of  this  friend  of  your  youth,  who  unhesitatingly  sacrificed  him- 
self in  defense  of  your  honor." 

Not  a  muscle  of  Mme.  Fauvel's  face  moved;  she  appeared 
to  be  trying  to  recall  the  circumstance  to  which  Louis  alluded. 

*'  Have  you  forgotten,  madame?"  he  asked,  with  bitterness; 
"  then  I  must  explain  more  clearly.  A  long,  long  time  ago 
you  loved  my  unfortunate  brother." 

**  Monsieur!" 

**  Ah,  it  is  useless  to  deny  it,  madame;  I  told  you  that  Gas- 
ton confided  everything  to  me — everything,"  he  added,  signifi- 
cantly. 

But  Mme.  Fauvel  was  not  frightened  by  this  information. 
This  "  everything  "  could  not  be  of  any  importance,  for  Gas- 
ton had  gone  abroad  in  total  ignorance  of  her  secret. 

She  rose  and  said,  with  an  apparent  assurance  she  was  far 
from  feeling: 

"  You  forget,  monsieur,  that  you  are  speaking  to  a  woman 
who  is  now  advanced  in  life,  who  is  married,  and  who  has 
grown  sons.  If  your  brother  loved  me,  it  was  his  affair,  and 
not  yours.  If,  young  and  ignorant,  I  was  led  into  imprudence, 
it  is  not  your  place  to  remind  me  of  it.  This  past  which  you 
evoke  I  buried  in  oblivion  twenty  years  ago." 

**  Thus  you  have  forgotten  all  that  happened?" 

*'  Absolutely  all:  everything, " 

"  Even  your  child,  madame?" 

This  question,  uttered  with  a  sneer  of  triumph,  fell  upon 
Mme.  Fauvel  like  a  thunder-clap.  She  dropped  tremblingly 
Jnto  her  seat,  murmuring: 

**  My  God!    How  did  he  discover  it?" 


FILE    KO.    113.  31* 

Had  her  own  happiness  alone  been  at  stake,  she  would  hate 
instantly  thrown  herself  upon  Clameran's  mercy.  But  she 
had  her  family  to  defend,  and  the  consciousness  of  this  gave 
her  strength  to  resist  him. 

"  Do  you  wish  to  insult  me,  monsieur?**  she  asked. 

"  Do  you  pretend  to  say  you  have  forgotten  Valentine- 
Raoul?'' 

She  saw  that  this  man  did  indeed  know  all.  How?  It  little 
mattered.  He  certainly  knew;  but  she  determined  to  deny 
everything,  even  the  most  positive  proofs,  if  he  should  produce 
them. 

For  an  instant  she  had  an  idea  of  ordering  the  Marquis  of 
Clameran  to  leave  the  house;  but  prudence  stayed  her.  She 
thought  it  best  to  discover  how  much  he  really  knew. 

"  Well,*'  she  said,  with  a  forced  laugh,  *'  will  you  be  kind 
enough  to  state  what  you  wish  with  me?'* 

"  Certainly,  madame.  Two  years  ago  the  vicissitudes  of 
exile  took  my  brother  'to  London.  There,  at  the  house  of  a 
friend,  he  met  a  young  man  by  the  name  of  EaouL  Gaston 
was  so  struck  by  tiie  youth's  appearance  and  intelligence,  that 
he  inquired  who  he  was,  and  discovered  that  beyond  a  doubt 
this  boy  was  his  son,  and  your  son,  madame." 

*'  This  is  quite  a  romance  you  are  relating." 

"  Yes,  madame,  a  romance  the  denouement  of  which  is  in 
your  hands.  Your  mother  certainly  used  every  precaution  to 
conceal  your  secret,  but  the  best  laid  plans  always  have  some 
weak  point.  After  your  marriage,  one  of  your  mother's  Lon- 
don friends  came  to  Tarascon,  and  spread  the  report  of  what 
had  taken  place  at  the  English  village.  This  lady  also  re- 
vealed your  true  name  to  the  nurse,  who  was  bringing  up  the 
child.  Thus  everything  was  discovered  by  my  brother,  who 
had  no  difficulty  in  obtaining  the  most  positive  proofs  of  the 
boy's  parentage." 

Louis  closely  watched  Mme.  Fauvel's  face  to  see  the  effect  of 
his  words. 

To  his  astonishment  she  betrayed  not  the  slightest  agitation 
or  alarm;  she  was  smiling  as  if  entertained  by  the  recital  of 
his  romance. 

"Well,  what  next?"  she  asked,  carelessly. 

"  Then,  madame,  Gaston  acknowledged  the  child.  But  the 
Clamerans  are  poor;  my  brother  died  on  a  pallet  in  a  lodging- 
house,  and  I  have  only  an  income  of  twelve  hundred  francs  to 
live  upon.  What  is  to  become  of  Raoul,  alone  without  rela- 
tions or  friends  to  assist  him!  My  brother's  last  moments  wera 
imbittered  by  anxiety  for  the  welfare  of  his  child." 


330  FILE    NO.    113. 

"  Really,  monsieur — " 

**  Allow  me  to  finish/*  interrupted  Louis.  "In  that  su 
preme  hour  Gaston  opened  his  heart  to  me.  He  told  me  to  ap' 
ply  to  you.  '  Valentine/  said  he,  '  Valentine  will  remember 
the  past,  and  will  not  let  our  son  want  for  anything;  she  ii 
wealthy,  she  is  just  and  generous;  I  die  with  my  mind  at 
rest.'"' 

Mme.  Fauvel  rose  from  her  seat,  and  stood,  evidently  wait- 
ing for  her  visitor  to  retire. 

"You  must  confess,  monsieur,''  she  said,  "  that  I  have 
shown  great  patience.'* 

This  imperturbable  assurance  amazed  Louis. 

"  I  do  not  deny/'  she  continued,  "  that  I  at  one  time  pos- 
sessed the  confidence  of  Monsieur  Gaston  de  Clameran.    I  will 
Erove  it  by  restoring  to  you  your  mother's  jewels,  with  which 
e  intrusted  me  on  his  departure. " 

While  speaking,  she  took  from  beneath  the  sofa-cushion  the 
purse  of  jewels,  and  handed  it  to  Louis. 

"  These  jewels  would  have  been  given  to  the  owner  the  in- 
stant they  were  called  for,  monsieur,  and  I  am  surprised  that 
your  brother  never  reclaimed  them. " 

Louis  betrayed  his  astonishment  at  the  sight  of  the  jewels. 
He  tried  to  cover  his  embarrassment  by  boldly  saying: 

*'  I  was  told  not  to  mention  this  sacred  trust." 

Mme.  Fauvel,  without  making  any  reply,  laid  her  hand  on 
the  bell-rope  and  quietly  said: 

"  You  will  allow  me  to  end  this  interview,  monsieur,  which 
was  only  granted  for  the  purpose  of  placing  in  your  hands 
these  precious  jewels. " 

Thus  dismissed,  M.  de  Clameran  was  obliged  to  take  his 
leave  without  attaining  his  object. 

"  As  you  will,  madame,"  he  said;  "  I  leave  you;  but  before 
doing  so  I  must  tell  you  the  rest  of  my  brother's  dying  in- 
junctions: *  If  Valentine  disregards  the  past,  and  refuses  to 
provide  for  our  son,  I  enjoin  it  upon  you  to  compel  her  to  do 
her  duty.  Meditate  upon  these  words,  madame,  for  what  I 
have  sworn  to  do,  upon  my  honor,  shall  be  done." 

At  last  Mme.  Fauvel  was  alone.  She  could  give  vent  to  her 
despair. 

Exhausted  at  her  efforts  of  self-restraint  during  the  pres- 
ence of  Clameran,  she  felt  weary  and  crushed  in  body  and 
spirit. 

She  had  scarcely  strength  to  drag  herself  up  to  her  cham* 
ber  and  lock  the  door. 

Now  there  was  no  room  for  doubt;  her  fears  had  beoome  rfr 


FILE    NO.    113.  231 

•lities.  She  could  fathom  the  abyss  into  which  she  was  about 
to  be  hurled,  and  knew  that  in  her  fall  she  "would  drag  her 
family  with  her. 

God  alone,  in  this  hour  of  aaager,  could  help  her,  conld  save 
her  from  destruction.     She  prayed. 

"  Oh,  my  God!'*  she  cried,  *'  punish  me  for  my  great  sin, 
and  I  will  evermore  adore  thy  chastising  hand!  I  have  been 
a  bad  daughter,  an  unworthy  mother,  and  a  perfidious  wife. 
Smite  me,  oh  God,  and  only  me!  In  thy  just  anger  spare  the 
innocent,  have  pity  upon  my  husband  and  my  children.'* 

What  were  her  twenty  years  of  happiness  compared  to  this 
hour  of  misery?  A  bitter  remorse;  nothing  more.  Ah,  why 
did  she  listen  to  her  mother?  Why  had  she  committed  moral 
>uicide? 

Hope  had  fled;  despair  had  come. 

This  man  who  had  left  her  presence  with  a  threat  upon  his 
lips  would  return  to  torture  her  anew.  How  could  she  escape 
him? 

To-day  she  had  succeeded  in  subduing  her  heart  and  con- 
science; would  she  again  have  the  strength  to  master  her  feel- 
ings? 

She  well  knew  that  her  calmness  and  courage  were  entirely 
due  to  the  inaptness  of  Clameran. 

Why  did  he  not  use  entreaties  instead  of  threats? 

When  Louis  spoke  of  Eaoul,  she  could  scarcely  conceal  her 
emotion;  her  maternal  heart  yearned  toward  the  innocent 
child  who  was  expiating  his  mother's  faults. 

A  chill  of  horror  passed  over  her  at  the  idea  of  his  enduring 
the  pangs  of  hunger. 

Her  child  wanting  bread,  when  she,  his  mother,  was  rolling 
in  wealth. 

"  Ah!  why  could  she  not  lay  all  her  possessions  at  his  feet? 
With  what  delight  would  she  undergo  the  greatest  privations 
for  his  sake?  if  she  could  but  send  him  enough  money  to 
support  him  comfortably! 

]3ut  no;  she  could  not  take  this  step  without  compromising 
herself  and  her  family. 

Prudence  forbade  her  acceptance  of  the  intervention  of 
Louis  de  Clameran. 

To  confide  in  him,  was  placing  herself,  and  all  she  held  dear 
at  his  mercy — at  the  mercv  of  a  man  who  insnired  her  with 
instinctive  terror. 

Then  she  began  to  ask  herself  if  he  had  spoken  the  truths 
or  had  trumped  up  the  story  to  frighten  her? 


222  FILE  NO.  113. 

la  thindng  over  Louis*g  story,  it  seemed  improbable  aoi 
disconnected. 

If  Gaston  had  been  living  in  Paris,  in  the  poverty  descnbeel 
by  his  brother,  why  had  he  not  demanded  of  the  married 
woman  the  deposit  intrusted  to  the  maiden! 

Why,  when  anxious  about  the  future  of  their  child,  had  he 
not  come  to  her,  if  he  had  such  confidence  in  her  generosity? 
If  he  trusted  her  on  his  death-bed,  why  had  he  not  shown  this 
trust  while  living? 

A  thousand  vague  apprehensions  beset  her  mind;  she  felt 
suspicion  and  distrust  of  every  one  and  everything. 

She  was  aware  that  the  time  had  come  for  her  to  take  a  de- 
cisive step,  and  upon  this  step  depended  her  whole  future 
peace  and  happiness.  If  she  once  yielded,  what  would  not  be 
exacted  of  her  in  the  future?  She  would  certainly  be  made  to 
suffer  if  she  refused  to  yield.  If  she  had  only  some  wise 
friend  to  advise  her!  , 

For  a  moment  she  thought  of  throwing  herself  at  her  hus- 
band's feet  and  confessing  all. 

Unfortunately,  she  thrust  aside  this  means  of  salvation. 
She  pictured  to  herself  the  mortification  and  sorrow  that  her 
noble-hearted  husband  would  suffer  upon  discovering,  after  a 
lapse  of  twenty  years,  how  shamefully  he  had  been  deceived, 
how  his  confidence  and  love  had  been  betrayed. 

Having  been  once  deceived,  would  he  ever  trust  her  again? 
Would  he  believe  in  her  fidelity  as  a  wife,  when  he  discovered 
she  had  uttered  her  marriage  vow  to  love  and  honor  him, 
when  her  heart  was  already  given  to  another? 

She  knew  Andre  was  too  magnanimous  to  ever  allude  to  her 
horrible  fault,  and  would  use  every  means  to  conceal  it.  But 
his  domestic  happiness  would  be  gone  forever.  His  chair  at 
the  fire-side  would  be  left  empty;  his  sons  would  shun  her 
presence,  and  every  family  bond  would  be  severed. 

Then  again,  would  peace  be  preserved  by  her  silence? 
Would  not  Clameran  end  by  betraying  her  to  Andre? 

She  thought  of  ending  her  doubts  by  suicide;  but  her  death, 
would  not  silence  her  implacable  enemy,  who  not  being  able 
to  disgrace  her  while  alive  would  dishonor  her  memory. 

Fortunately,  the  banker  was  still  absent;  and  during  the 
two  days  succeeding  Louis's  visit,  Mme.  Fauvel  could  keep 
her  room  under  pretense  of  sickness. 

But  Madeleine,  with  her  feminine  instinct,  saw  that  her  aunt 
was  troubled  by  something  worse  than  nervous  headache,  for 
which  the  physician  was  prescribing  all  sorts  of  remedies,  with 
no  beneficia)  effect 


PILE  NO.  118.  225 

She  remembered  that  this  sudden  illness  dated  from  the 
nsit  of  the  melancholy  looking  stranger,  who  had  been  clos- 
eted for  a  long  time  with  her  aunt. 

Madeleine,  supposing  that  something  was  weighing  upon 
the  miserable  woman's  mind,  on  the  second  day  of  her  sick- 
ness, ventured  to  say: 

"  What  makes  you  so  sad,  dear  aunt?  If  you  will  not  tel) 
me,  do  let  me  bring  our  good  cure  to  see  you. 

With  a  sharpness  foreign  to  her  nature,  which  was  gentle- 
ness itself,  Mme.  Fauvel  refused  to  assent  to  her  niece's 
proposition. 

What  Louis  calculated  upon  happened. 

After  long  reflection,  not  seeing  any  issue  to  her  deplorable 
situation,  Mme.  Fauvel  determined  to  yield. 

By  consenting  to  everything  demanded  of  her,  she  had  a 
chance  of  saving  her  husband  from  suffering  and  disgrace. 

She  well  knew  that  to  act  tiius  was  to  prepare  a  life  of  tort- 
ure for  herself,  but  she  alone  would  be  the  victim,  and,  at 
any  rate,  she  would  be  gaining  time.  Heaven  might  at  last 
interpose,  and  save  her  from  ruin. 

In  the  meantime,  M.  Fauvel  had  returned  home,  and  Val- 
entine resumed  her  accustomed  duties. 

But  she  was  no  longer  the  happy  mother  and  devoted  wife, 
whose  smiling  presence  was  wont  to  fill  the  house  with  sun- 
shine and  comfort.  She  was  melancholy,  anxious,  and  at 
times  irritable. 

Hearing  nothing  of  Clameran,  she  expected  to  see  him  ap- 
pear at  any  moment;  trembling  at  every  knock,  and  turning 
pale  when  a  strange  step  was  heard  to  enter,  she  dared  not 
leave  the  house,  for  fear  he  should  come  during  her  absence. 

Her  agony  was  like  that  of  a  condemned  man,  who,  each 
day  as  he  wakes  from  his  uneasy  slumber,  asks  himself,  "  Am 
I  to  die  to-day?" 

Clameran  did  not  come;  he  wrote,  or  rather,  as  he  was  too 

Erudent  to  furnish  arms  which  could  be  used  against  him,  he 
ad  a  note  written,  which  Mme.  Fauvel  alone  might  under- 
stand, in  which  he  said  that  he  was  quite  ill  and  unable  to 
call  upon  her,  and  hoped  she  would  be  so  good  as  to  come  to 
his  room  the  next  day;  she  had  only  to  ask  for  317,  Hotel  du 
Louvre. 

The  letter  was  almost  a  relief  to  Mme.  Fauvel.     Anything 
was  preferable   to  suspense.     She  was  ready  to  consent  tc 
everything. 
She  burned  the  letter,  and  said,  "  I  shall  go." 
Tha  next  day  at  the  appointed  hour,  she  d'-essed  herself  in ^ 


224  FILE    NO.    113. 

plain  bUck  silk,  a  large  bonnet  which  concealed  her  face,  and, 
putting  a  thick  veil  in  her  pocket  to  be  used  if  she  found  it 
necessary,  started  forth. 

After  hurriedly  waliiing  several  squares,  she  thought  she 
might,  without  fear  of  being  recognized,  call  a  coach.  In  a 
few  minutes  she  was  set  down  at  the  Hotel  du  Louvre.  Here 
her  uneasiness  increased.  Her  circle  of  acquaintances  being 
large,  she  was  in  terror  of  being  recognized.  What  would  her 
friends  think  if  they  saw  her  at  the  Hdtel  du  Louvre  disguised 
in  this  old  dress? 

Any  one  would  naturally  suspect  an  intrigue,  a  rendezvous, 
and  her  character  would  be  ruined  forever. 

This  was  the  first  time  since  her  marriage  that  she  had  had 
occasion  for  mystery;  and  her  efforts  to  escape  notice  were  in 
every  way  calculated  to  attract  attention. 

The  porter  said  that  the  Marquis  of  Clameran's  rooms  were 
on  the  third  floor. 

She  hurried  up  the  stairs,  glad  to  escape  the  scrutinizing 
glances  of  several  men;  but,  in  spite  of  the  minute  directions 
given  by  the  porter,  she  lost  her  way  in  one  of  the  long  corri- 
dors of  the  hotel. 

Finally,  after  wandering  about  for  some  time,  she  found  a 
door  bearing  the  number  sought — 317. 

She  stood  leaning  against  the  wall  with  her  hand  pressed  to 
her  throbbing  heart,  which  seemed  bursting. 

Now,  at  the  moment  of  risking  this  decisive  step,  she  felt 
paralyzed  with  fright.  She  would  have  given  all  she  possessed 
to  find  herself  safe  in  her  own  home. 

The  sight  of  a  stranger  entering  the  corridor  ended  her  hei- 
itations. 

With  a  trembling  hand  she  knocked  at  the  door. 

*'  Come  in,'*  said  a  voice  from  within. 

She  entered  the  room. 

It  was  not  the  Marquis  of  Clameran  who  stood  in  the  middle 
of  the  room,  but  a  young  man,  almost  a  youth,  who  bowed  to 
Mme.  Fauvel  with  a  singular  expression  on  his  handsome  face. 

Mme.  Fauvel  thought  that  she  had  mistaken  the  room. 

"Excuse  me,  monsieur,'*  she  said,  blushing  deeply;  "1 
thought  that  this  was  the  Marquis  of  Clameran's  room.** 

"  It  is  his  room,  madame,"  repUed  the  young  man;  then, 
seeing  she  was  silent  and  about  to  leave,  he  added: 

*'  I  presume  I  have  the  honor  of  addressing  Madame  Fao- 
velr" 

She  bowed  affirmatively,  shudlenng  at  the  sound  of  her 
Qwn  name,  frightened  at  this  oroof  pf  ClamerQ,n's  betrayal  of 


FILE  NO.  113.  233 

her  secret  to  a  stranger.     "With  visible  anxiety  she  awaited  ai> 
explanation. 

Reassure  yourself,  madame,"  Baid  the  young  man;  "  you 
are  as  safe  here  as  if  you  were  fti  your  own  house.  Monsieur 
de  Clamaran  desired  me  to  make  his  excuses;  he  will  not  havt 
the  honor  of  seeing  you  to-day. " 

"  But,  monsieur,  from  an  urgent  letter  sent  by  him  yester- 
day, I  was  led  to  suppose — to  infer — that  he — " 

"  When  he  wrote  to  you,  madame,  he  had  projects  in  view 
which  he  has  since  renounced/' 

Mme.  Fauvel  was  too  agitated  and  troubled  to  think  clearly. 
Beyond  the  present  she  could  see  nothing. 

"  Do  you  mean,*'  she  asked,  with  distrust,  "  that  he  has 
changed  his  intentions?^' 

Tne  young  man's  face  was  expressive  of  sad  compassion,  as 
if  he  shared  the  sufferings  of  the  unhappy  woman  before  him. 

"  The  marquis  has  renounced,"  he  said,  in  a  melancholy 
tone,  "  what  he  wrongly  considered  a  sacred  duty.  Believe 
me,  he  hesitated  a  long  time  before  he  could  decide  to  apply 
to  you  on  a  subject  painful  to  you  both.  When  he  began  to 
explain  his  apparent  intrusion  upon  your  private  affairs,  you 
refused  to  hear  him,  and  dismissed  him  with  indignant  con- 
tempt. He  knew  not  what  imperious  reasons  dictated  your 
conduct.  Blinded  by  unjust  anger,  he  swore  to  obtain  by 
threats  what  you  refused  to  give  voluntarily.  Eesolved  to  at- 
tack your  domestic  happiness,  he  had  collected  overwhelming 
proofs  against  you.  Pardon  him  j  an  oath  given  to  his  dying 
brother  bound  him. 

"  These  convicting  proofs,"  he  continued,  as  he  tapped  hiL-" 
finger  on  a  bundle  of  papers  which  he  had  taken  from  the 
mantel,  "  this  evidence  that  can  not  be  denied,  I  now  hold  in 
my  hand.  This  is  the  certificate  of  the  Rev.  Doctor  Sedley: 
this  the  declaration  of  Mrs.  Dobbin,  the  farmer's  wife;  and 
these  others  are  the  statements  of  the  physician  and  of  several 
persons  of  high  social  position  who  were  acquainted  with 
Madame  de  la  Verberie  during  her  stay  in  London.  Not  a 
aingle  link  is  missing.  I  had  great  difficulty  in  getting  these 
papers  away  from  Monsieur  de  Clameran.  Had  he  antici- 
pated my  mtention  of  thus  disposing  of  them,  they  would 
never  have  been  surrendered  to  my  keeping. " 

As  he  finished  speaking  the  young  man  threw  the  bundle 
©f  papers  into  the  fire,  where  they  blazed  up;  and  in  a  ma* 
ment  nothing  remained  of  them  but  a  little  heap  oi  ashes. 

*'  All  is  now  destroyed,  madame,"  he  said,  with  a  satisfied 
oir.     *'  The  past,  if  jou  desire  it»  is  as  completely  annijailated 


235  PILE    NO.    113. 

as  those  papers.  If  any  one,  hereafter,  dares  accuse  you  o! 
having  had  a  son  before  your  marriage,  treat  him  as  a  vile 
calumniator.  No  proof  against  you  can  be  produced;  nor^? 
exists.     You  are  free.*' 

Mme.  Fauvel  began  to  understand  the  sense  of  this  scene; 
the  truth  dawned  upon  her  bewildered  mind. 

This  noble  youth,  who  protected  her  from  the  anger  of  De 
Claraeran,  who  restored  her  peace  of  mind  and  the  exercise  of 
her  own  free  will  by  destroying  ail  proofs  of  her  past,  was, 
must  be,  the  child  whom  she  had  abandoned,  Valentine-Eaoul. 

In  an  instant,  all  was  forgotten  save  the  present.  Maternal 
tenderness,  so  long  restrained,  now  wei/ttd  up  and  overflowed 
as  with  intense  emotion  she  murmureo; 

"  Raoul!" 

At  this  name,  uttered  in  so  thrilling  a  tone,  the  youth  start- 
ed and  tottered,  as  if  overcome  by  an  unhoped-for  happiness. 

"  Yes,  Raoul,*'  he  cried,  "  Eaoul,  who  would  a  thousand 
times  rather  die  than  cause  his  mother  a  moment's  pain; 
Raoul,  who  would  shed  his  life's  blood  to  spare  her  one  tear.'' 

She  made  no  attempt  to  struggle  againsc  nature's  yearnings; 
her  longing  to  clasp  to  her  heart  this  long-pined-for  first-born 
must  be  gratified  at  all  costs. 

She  opened  her  arms,  and  Eaoul  sprung  forward  with  a  cry 
of  joy: 

*'  Mother!  my  blessed  mother!  Thanks  be  to  God  for  this 
first  kiss!" 

Alas!  this  was  the  sad  truth.  The  deserted  child  had  never 
been  blessed  by  a  mother's  kiss.  This  dear  son  whom  she  had 
never  seen  before,  had  been  taken  from  her,  despite  her  pray- 
ers and  tears,  without  a  mother's  blessing,  a  mother's  em- 
brace. After  twenty  years  waiting,  should  it  be  denied  him 
now? 

But  joy  so  great,  following  upon  so  many  contending  emo- 
tions, was  more  than  the  excited  mother  Qould  bear;  she  suni' 
back  in  her  chair  almost  fainting,  and  with  distended  eyes 
gazed  in  a  bewildered,  eager  way  upon  her  long-lost  son,  who 
was  now  kneeling  at  her  feet. 

With  tenderness  she  stroked  the  soft  chestnut  curls,  and 
drank  in  the  tenderness  of  his  soft  dark  eyes,  and  expressive 
mouth,  as  he  murmured  words  of  filial  aftection  in  her  craving 
ear. 

"  Oh,  mother!"  he  said,  "  words  can  not  describe  my  feel-, 
ings  of  pain  and  anguish  upon  hearing  that  my  uncle  had 
dared  to  threaten  you.  He  threaten  youT  He  repents  already 
©f  his  cruelty;  he  did  not  know  you  as  I  do.   Yes;  my  mother^ 


FILE  NO.  113.  227 

I  have  known  you  for  a  long,  long  time.  Often  have  my  fa- 
ther and  I  hovered  around  your  happy  home  to  catch  a 
glimpse  of  you  through  the  window.  AVhen  you  passed  by  ia 
your  carriage,  he  would  say  to  me,  '  There  is  your  mother, 
Raoul!'  To  look  upon  you  was  our  greatest  joy.  When  we 
knew  you  were  going  to  a  ball,  we  would  wait  near  the  door 
to  see  you  enter,  in  your  satin  and  diamonds.  How  often  have 
I  followed  your  fast  horses  to  see  you  descend  from  the  car* 
riage  and  enter  wealthy  doors,  which  I  could  never  hope  to 
penetrate!  And  how  my  noble  father  loved  you  always!  When 
he  told  his  brother  to  apply  to  you  in  my  behalf,  he  was  uncon- 
Bcious  of  what  he  said;  his  mind  was  wandering.^' 

Tears,  the  sweetest  tears  she  had  ever  shed,  coursed  down 
Mme.  Fauvel's  cheeks  as  she  listened  to  the  musical  tones  of 
EaouPs  voice. 

This  voice  was  80  like  Gaston's  that  she  seemed  once  more 
to  be  listening  to  the  lover  of  her  almost  forgotten  youth. 

She  was  living  over  again  those  stolen  meetings;  those  long 
hours  of  bliss,  when  Gaston  was  at  her  side,  as  they  sat  and 
watched  the  river  rippling  beneath  the  trees. 

It  seemed  only  yesterday  that  Gaston  had  pressed  her  to  his 
faithful  heart;  she  saw  him  still,  saying,  gently: 

"  In  three  years,  Valentine!    Wait  for  me?" 

Andre,  her  two  sons,  Madeleine — all  were  forgotten  in  this 
new-found  affection. 

Eaoul  continued,  in  tender  tones: 

' '  Only  yesterday  I  discovered  that  my  uncle  had  been  to 
demand  for  me  a  few  crumbs  of  your  wealth.  Why  did  he 
take  such  a  step?  I  am  poor,  it  is  true,  very  poor;  but  I  am 
too  familiar  with  poverty  to  bemoan  it.  I  have  a  clear  brain 
and  willing  hands;  that  is  fortune  enough  for  a  young  man. 
You  are  very  rich.  What  is  that  to  me?  Keep  all  your  fort- 
une, my  beloved  mother;  but  do  not  repel  my  affection;  let 
me  love  you.  Promise  me  that  this  first  kiss  shall  not  be  the 
last.  No  one  will  ever  know  of  my  new-found  happiness;  not 
by  word  or  deed  will  I  do  aught  to  let  the  world  suspect  that  I 
possess  this  great  joy.** 

And  Mme.  Fauvel  had  dreaded  this  son!  And  how  bitterly 
did  she  now  reproach  herself  for  not  having  flown  to  meet 
him  the  instant  she  heard  that  he  was  living! 

She  questioned  him  regarding  the  past;  she  wished  to  know 
how  he  had  lived,  what  he  had  been  doing. 

He  replied  that  he  bad  nothing  to  conceal;  his. existence  had 
been  that  of  every  poor  boy,  who  had  nothing  to  look  forward 
to  but  a  life  of  labor  and  privation. 


828  FILE    NO.    113. 

The  farmer's  wife  who  had  brought  him  ap  was  a  kind* 
hearted  woman,  and  had  always  treated  him  with  affection. 
She  had  even  given  him  an  education  superior  to  his  condition 
in  life,  because,  as  she  always  said,  he  would  make  himself  a 
great  name,  and  attain  to  wealth,  if  he  were  taught. 

When  about  sixteen  years  of  age,  she  procured  him  a  situa- 
tion in  a  banking-house;  and  he  was  getting  a  salary,  which, 
though  small,  was  enough  to  support  him  and  supply  a  few 
luxuries  for  his  adopted  mother. 

One  day  a  stranger  came  to  him  and  said: 

*'  I  am  your  father;  come  with  me." 

Since  then  nothing  was  wanting  to  his  happiness,  save  a 
mother's  tenderness.  He  had  suffered  but  one  great  sorrow, 
and  that  was  the  day  when  Gaston  de  Clameran,  his  father, 
had  died  in  his  arms. 

"  But  now,'*  he  said,  "  all  is  forgotten,  that  one  sorrow  is 
forgotten  in  my  present  happiness.  Now  that  I  see  you,  and 
possess  your  love,  I  forget  the  past,  and  ask  for  nothing  more.'* 

Mnie.  Fauvel  was  oblivious  of  the  lapse  of  time,  and  was 
[Started  when  Raoul  exclaimed : 

*'  Why,  it  is  seven  o'clock!" 

Seven  o'clock!  What  would  her  family  think  of  this  long 
absence?     Her  husband  must  be  even  now  awaiting  dinner. 

"Shall  I  see  you  again,  mother?'*  asked  Eaoul,  in  a  be- 
seeching tone,  as  they  were  about  to  separate. 

'*  Oh,  yes!"  she  replied,  fondly;  yes,  often;  everyday, 
to-morrow." 

But  now  for  the  first  time  since  her  marriage,  Mme.  Fauvel 
perceived  that  she  was  not  mistress  of  her  actions.  Never  be- 
fore had  she  had  occasion  to  wish  for  uncontrolled  liberty. 

She  left  her  heart  and  soul  behind  her  in  the  Hotel  du 
Louvre  where  she  had  just  found  her  son.  She  was  compelled 
to  leave  him,  to  undergo  the  intolerable  agony  of  composing 
her  face  to  conceal  this  great  happiness,  which  had  changed 
her  whole  life  and  being.  She  was  angry  with  fate  because 
she  could  not  remain  with  her  first-born  son. 

Having  some  difficulty  in  procuring  a  carriage,  it  was  half 
past  seven  before  she  reached  the  Rue  de  Provence,  when  she 
found  the  family  waiting  dinner  for  her. 

She  thought  her  husband  silly,  and  even  vulgar,  when  he 
joked  her  upon  letting  her  poor  children  starve  to  death,  while 
she  was  promenading  the  boulevards. 

So  strange  are  the  sudden  effects  of  a  new  passion,  that  she 
regarded  almost  with  contemnt  thifi  uubouuded  confidence  re* 
posed  in  her. 


FILE  NO.  113.  339 

She  replied  to  nis  jest  with  a  forced  calmness,  as  if  her  mind 
were  really  as  free  and  undisturbed  as  it  had  been  before 
Clameran's  visit. 

So  intoxicated  had  been  her  sensations  while  with  Eaoul, 
that  in  her  joy  she  was  incapable  of  desiring  anything  else,  of 
dreaming  of  aaght  save  the  renewal  of  these  delightful  emo- 
tions. 

No  longer  was  she  a  devoted  wife,  an  affectionate  mother  to 
this  household,  which  looked  up  to  her  as  though  she  were  a 
Buperior  being.  She  took  no  interest  in  the  two  sons  who 
were  a  short  while  since  her  chief  pride  and  joy.  They  had 
always  been  petted  and  indulged  in  every  way;  they  had  a 
father,  they  were  rich;  whilst  the  other,  the  other!  oh,  how 
much  reparation  was  due  to  him! 

She  almost  regarded  her  family  as  responsible  for  Eaoul*6 
sufferings,  so  blinded  was  she  in  her  devotion  to  her  martyr, 
as  she  called  him. 

Her  folly  was  complete.  "No  remorse  for  the  past,  no  ap- 
prehensions for  the  future,  disturbed  the  satisfied  present.  To 
her  the  future  was  to-morrow;  eternity  was  the  sixteen  hours 
which  must  elapse  before  another  interview. 

She  seemed  to  think  that  Gaston's  death  absolved  the  past 
and  changed  the  present. 

Her  sole  regret  was  her  marriage.  Free,  with  no  family 
ties,  she  could  have  consecrated  Jierself  exclusively  to  Raoul, 
How  gladly  would  she  have  sacrificed  her  affluence  to  enjoy 
poverty  with  him ! 

She  felt  no  fear  that  her  husband  and  sons  would  suspect  the 
thoughts  which  absorbed  her  mind;  but  she  dreaded  her  niece. 

She  imagined  that  Madeleine  looked  at  her  strangely  on  her 
return  from  the  Hotel  du  Louvre.  She  must  suspect  some- 
thing; but  did  she  suspect  the  truth? 

For  several  days  she  asked  embarrassing  questions,  as  to 
where  her  aunt  went,  and  with  whoin  she  had  been  during 
these  long  absences  from  home. 

This  disquietude  and  seeming  curiosity  changed  the  affec- 
tion which  Mme.  Fauvel  had  hitherto  felt  for  her  adopted 
daughter  into  positive  dislike. 

She  regretted  having  placed  over  herself  a  vigilant  spy  from 
whom  she  could  not  escape.  She  pondered  what  means  she 
cpuld  take  to  avoid  the  penetrating  watchfulness  of  a  girl  who 
was  accustomed  to  read  in  her  face  every  thought  that  crossed 
her  mind. 

With  unspeakable  satisfaction,  she  solved  the  difficulty  in  a 
way  which  she  thought  would  please  all  parties. 


830  FILE    NO.    113 

During  the  last  two  years  tke  banker's  cashier  and  proteg^. 
Prosper  Bertomy,  had  been  devoted  in  his  attentions  to  Made- 
leine. Mme.  Fauvel  decided  to  do  all  in  her  power  to  hasten 
matters,  so  that,  Madeleine  once  married  and  out  of  the  house, 
there  would  be  no  one  to  criticise  her  own  movements.  She 
could  then  spend  most  of  her  time  with  Baoul  without  fear  of 
detection. 

That  evening,  with  a  duplicity  of  which  she  would  have  been 
incapable  a  few  weeks  before,  she  began  to  question  Madeleine 
about  her  sentiments  toward  Prosper. 

*'  Ah,  ha,  mademoiselle,''  she  said,  gayly,  "  I  have  discov- 
ered your  secret.  You  are  going  on  at  a  pretty  rate!  The 
idea  of  your  choosing  a  husband  without  my  permission!" 

*'  Why,  aunt!     I  thought  you—'* 

"  Yes,  I  know;  you  thought  I  had  suspected  the  true  state 
of  affairs?     That  is  precisely  what  I  have  done.*' 

Then,  in  a  serious  tone,  she  said: 

"  Therefore  nothing  remains  to  be  done  except  to  obtain 
the  consent  of  Master  Prosper.  Do  you  think  he  will  grant 
it?'' 

"  Oh,  Aunt  Valentine!  he  would  be  too  happy." 

"Ah,  indeed!  you  seem  to  know  all  about  it;  perhaps  you 
do  not  care  for  any  assistance  in  carrying  out  your  wishes?" 

Madeleine,  blushing  and  confused,  hung  her  head,  and  said 
nothing.  Mme.  Fauvel  drew  her  toward  her,  and  continued 
affectionaitely : 

"  My  dear  child,  do  not  be  distressed;  you  have  done  nothing 
wrong,  and  need  fear  no  opposition  to  your  wishes.  Is 
it  possible  that  a  person  of  your  penetration  supposed  us  to  be 
in  ignorance  of  your  secret?  Did  you  think  that  Prosper 
would  have  been  so  warmly  welcomed  by  your  uncle  and  my- 
self, had  we  not  approved  of  him  in  every  respect?" 

Madeleine  threw  her  arms  around  her  aunt's  neck,  and 
said: 

"  Oh,  my  dear  aunt,  you  make  me  so  happy!  I  am  very 
grateful  for  your  love  and  kindness.  I  am  very  glad  that  you 
are  pleased  with  my  choice. " 

Mme.  Fauvel  said  to  herself: 

"  I  will  make  Anflre  speak  to  Prosper,  and  before  two  months 
are  over  the  marriage  must  take  place.  Madeleine  once  mar- 
ried I  shall  have  nothing  to  fear." 

Unfortunately,  Mme.  Fauvel  was  so  engrossed  by  her  new 
passion  that  she  put  off  from  day  to  day  her  project  of  hasten- 
mg  the  marriage,  until  it  was  too  late.  Spending  a  portion  ol 
»ach  day  at  the  Hotel  du  Louvre  with  Raoul,  and,  when  sep 


iiLB  Ko.  113:  231 

arated  from  him,  devoting  her  thoughts  to  insuring  him  au 
independent  fortune  and  a  good  position,  she  could  think  oi 
nothing  else. 

She  had  not  yet  spoken  to  him  of  money  or  business. 

She  imagined  that  she  had  discovered  in  him  his  father's 
noble  qualities;  that  the  sensitiveness  which  is  so  easily 
wounded  was  expressed  in  his  every  word  and  action. 

She  anxiously  wondered  if  he  would  ever  accept  the  least 
assistance  from  her.  The  Marquis  of  Clameran  quieted  her 
doubts  on  this  point. 

She  had  frequently  met  him  since  the  day  on  which  he  had 
so  frightened  her,  and  to  her  first  aversion  had  succeeded  a 
secret  sympathy.  She  felt  kindly  toward  him  for  the  aifection 
he  lavished  on  her  son. 

If  Eaoul,  with  the  heedlessness  of  youth,  mocked  at  the 
future,  Louis,  the  man  of  the  world,  looked  upon  it  with 
different  eyes.  He  was  anxious  for  the  welfare  of  his  nephew, 
and  constantly  complained  of  the  idle  life  he  was  now  leading. 

One  day,  after  praising  the  attractive  qualities  of  Eaoul,  he 
said: 

*'  This  pleasant  life  is  very  well,  as  long  as  it  lasts,  but 
people  can  not  live  upon  air,  and,  as  my  handsome  nephew 
has  no  fortune,  it  would  be  only  prudent  for  us  to  procure  him 
some  employment. " 

"  Ah,  my  dear  uncle,  do  let  me  enjoy  my  present  happiness. 
What  is  the  use  of  any  change!    "What  do  I  want?" 

*'  You  want  for  nothing  at  present,  Eaoul;  but  when  your 
resources  are  exhausted,  and  mine  too — which  will  be  in  a  short 
time — what  will  become  of  you?'' 

^'Basta!  I  will  enter  the  army.  All  the  Clamerans  are 
born  soldiers;  and  if  a  war  comes — " 

Mme.  Fauvel  laid  her  hand  upon  his  lips,  and  said  in  a  tone 
of  reproachful  tenderness: 

*'  Cruel  boy,  become  a  soldier?  Would  you,  then,  deprive  me 
of  the  joy  of  seeing  you?" 

"  No,  my  mother;  no." 

"  You  must  agree  to  whatever  plans  we  make  for  your 
good,"  said  Louis;  *'  and  not  be  talking  of  any  wild  schemes 
of  vour  own." 

I  am  ready  to  obey,  but  not  yet.     One  of  these  days  I  will 
go  to  work,  and  make  a  fortune." 

"  How,  poor,  foolish  boy?     What  can  you  do?" 

"  Dame  !  I  don't  know  now;  but  set  your  mind  at  rest,  \ 
irill  find  a  way. " 

iiPluding  it  impossible  to  make  this  aelf-sulBcient  youth  listen 


232  FILE   NO.   113. 

to  reason,  Louis  and  Mme.  Fauvel,  after  discussing  the  mattei 
fully,  decided  that  assistance  must  be  forced  upon  him,  and  hii 
path  in  life  marked  out  for  him. 

It  was  diflBcult,  however,  to  choose  a  profession;  and  Clame- 
ran  thought  it  prudent  to  wait  awhile,  and  study  the  bent  of 
the  young  man's  mind.  In  the  meanwhile  it  was  decided  that 
Mme.  Fauvel  should  place  funds  at  Clameran's  disposal  for 
EaouFs  support. 

Kegarding  Gaston's  brother  in  the  light  of  a  father  to  her 
child,  Mme.  Fauvel  soon  found  him  indispensable.  She  con- 
tinually longed  to  see  him,  either  to  consult  him  concerning 
some  step  to  be  taken  for  Eaoul*8  benefit,  or  to  impress  upon 
him  some  good  advice  to  be  given. 

Thus  she  was  well  pleased,  when  one  day  he  requested  the 
honor  of  being  allowed  to  call  upon  her  at  her  own  house. 

Nothing  was  easier  than  to  introduce  the  Marquis  of  Clame- 
ran  to  her  husband  as  an  old  friend  of  her  family;  and,  after 
once  being  admitted,  he  might  come  as  often  as  he  chose. 

Mme.  Fauvel  congratulated  herself  upon  this  arrangement. 

Afraid  to  go  to  Eaoul  every  day,  and  in  constant  terror  lest 
her  letters  to  him  should  be  discovered,  and  his  replies  fall  into 
her  husband's  hands,  she  was  delighted  at  the  prospect  of  hav- 
ing news  of  him  from  Olameran. 

For  a  month,  things  went  on  very  smoothly,  when  one  day 
the  marquis  confessed  that  Raoul  was  giving  him  a  great  deal 
of  trouble.  His  hesitating,  embarrassed  manner  frightened 
Mme.  Fauvel.  She  thought  something  dreadful  had  happened, 
and  that  he  was  trying  to  break  the  bad  news  gently. 

*'  What  is  the  matter?"  she  said,  turning  pale. 

*'  I  am  sorry  to  say,"  replied  Clameran,  that  this  young 
man  has  inherited  all  the  pride  and  passions  of  his  ancestors. 
He  is  one  of  those  natures  who  stop  at  nothing,  who  only  find 
incitement  in  opposition;  and  I  can  think  of  no  way  of  check* 
ing  him  in  his  mad  career. " 

"  Merciful  Heaven!  what  has  he  been  doing?'* 

"  Nothing  especially  censurable;  that  is,  nothing  irreparable 
thus  far;  but  I  am  afraid  of  the  future.  He  is  unaware  of 
the  liberal  allowance  which  you  have  placed  in  my  hands  for 
his  benefit;  and,  although  he  thinks  that  I  support  him,  there 
is  not  a  single  indulgence  which  he  denies  himself;  he  throws 
away  money  as  if  he  were  the  eon  of  a  millionaire.  *' 

Like  all  mothers,  Mme.  Fauvel  attempted  to  excuse  her  eoa 

*'  Perhaps  you  are  a  little  severe,"  she  said  "  Poor  child, 
he  has  suffered  so  much!  He  has  undergone  so  many  priva- 
tions during  his  childhood,  that  this  sudden  happiness  an^ 


KLE    KO.    113.  ZdZ 

wealth  have  turned  his  head;  he  seizes  it  as  a  starving  man 
seizes  a  piece  of  bread.  Is  it  surprising  that  he  should  refuse 
to  listen  to  reason  until  hungry  nature  shall  have  been  grati- 
fied? Ah,  only  have  patience,  and  he  will  soon  return  to  the 
path  of  sober  duty.  He  has  too  noble  a  heart  to  do  anything 
really  wrong. " 

"  He  has  suffered  so  much/'  was  Mme.  FauveFs  constant 
excuse  for  Eaoul.  This  was  her  invariable  reply  to  M.  de 
Clameran's  complaints  of  his  nephew's  conduct. 

And,  having  once  commenced,  he  was  now  constant  in  his 
accusations  against  Eaoul. 

"  Nothing  restrains  his  extravagance  and  dissipation,"  Louis 
Would  say  in  a  mournful  voice;  "the  instant  a  piece  of  folly 
enters  his  head,  it  is  carried  out,  no  matter  at  what  cost." 

Mme.  Fauvel  saw  no  reason  "why  her  son  should  be  thus 
harshly  judged. 

"  You  must  remember,"  she  said,  in  an  aggrieved  tone, 
*'  that  from  infancy  he  has  been  left  to  his  own  unguided  im- 
pulse. The  unfortunate  boy  never  had  a  mother  to  tend  and 
counsel  him.  You  must  remember,  too,  that  he  has  never 
known  a  father's  guidance." 

"There  is  some  excuse  for  him,  to  be  sure;  but  neverthe- 
less he  must  change  his  present  course.  Could  you  not  speak 
seriously  to  him,  madame?  You  have  more  influence  over 
him  than  I. " 

She  promised,  but  forgot  her  good  resolution  when  with 
Eaoul.  She  had  so  little  time  to  devote  to  him,  that  it  seemed 
cruel  to  spend  it  in  reprimands.  Sometimes  she  would  hurry 
from  home  for  the  purpose  of  following  the  marquis's  advice; 
but  the  instant  she  saw  Eaoul  her  courage  failed;  a  pleading 
look  from  his  soft,  dark  eyes  silenced  the  rebuke  upon  her  lips; 
the  sound  of  his  voice  banished  every  anxious  thought,  and 
lulled  her  mind  to  the  present  happiness. 

But  Clameran  was  not  a  man  to  lose  sight  of  the  main  ob- 
ject, in  what  he  considered  a  sentimental  wasting  of  time.  Ho 
would  have  no  compromise  of  duty. 

His  brother  had  oequeathed  to  him,  as  a  precious  trust,  hia 
Bon  Eaoul;  he  regarded  himself,  he  said,  as  his  guardian,  and 
would  be  held  responsible  in  another  world  for  his  welfare. 

He  entreated  Mme.  Fauvel  to  use  her  influence,  when  he 
found  himself  powerless  in  trying  to  check  the  heedless  youth 
in  his  headlong  career.  She  ought,  for  the  sake  of  her  child, 
to  see  more  of  him,  study  his  disposition,  and  daily  admonish 
him  in  his  duty  to  himself  and  to  her. 

**  Alasl"  the  poor  woman  replied,  "  that  would  he  m/ 


234  Tffja  Ka  113. 

heart's  desire.  But  ho\<^  can  I  do  it?  Have  I  the  right  t« 
ruin  myself?  I  have  other  children,  for  whom  I  must  be  care- 
ful of  my  reputation.*' 

This  answer  speared  to  astonish  Clameran.  A  fortnight 
before,  Mme.  Fauvel  would  not  have  alluded  to  her  otber  sons. 

*'  I  will  think  the  matter  over/'  said  Louis,  "  and  perhaps 
when  I  see  you  next  I  shall  be  able  to  submit  to  you  a  plan 
which  will  reconcile  everything. " 

The  reflections  of  a  man  of  so  much  experience  could  not  bo 
fruitless.  He  had  a  relieved,  satisfied  look,  when  he  called  to 
Bee  Mme.  Fauvel  on  the  following  week. 

"  I  think  I  have  solved  the  problem,"  he  said. 

"  What  problem?'*  ^ 

**  The  means  of  saving  Eaoul." 

He  explained  himself  by  saying  that,  as  Mme.  Fauvel  coulC' 
not,  without  arousing  her  husband's  suspicions,  continue  her 
daily  visits  to  Eaoul,  she  must  receive  him  at  her  own  house. 

This  proposition  shocked  Mme.  Fauvel;  for  though  she  had 
been  imprudent,  even  culpable,  she  was  the  soul  of  honor,  and 
naturally  shrunk  from  the  idea  of  introducing  Eaoul  into  the 
midst  of  her  family,  and  seeing  him  welcomed  by  her  husband, 
and  perhaps  become  the  friend  of  his  sons.  Her  instinctive 
sense  of  justice  made  her  declare  that  she  would  never  consent 
to  such  an  infamous  step. 

"  Yes,"  said  the  marquis,  thoughtfully,  "  there  is  some  risk; 
but  then,  it  is  the  only  chance  of  saving  your  child.*' 

She  resisted  with  so  much  firmness  and  indignation  that 
tiouis  was  astonished,  and  for  a  timp  nonplused;  though  he 
by  no  means  let  the  subject  drop,  but  seized  every  opportunity 
of  impressing  upon  her  tortured  mind  that  Eaoul's  salvation 
depended  entirely  upon  her. 

No,"  she  would  always  reply,  "nol    Never  will  I  be  so 
base  and  perfidious  to  my  husband!*' 

Unfortunate  woman!  little  did  she  know  of  the  pitfalls 
which  stand  ever  ready  to  swallow  up  wanderers  from  the  path 
of  virtue. 

Before  a  week  had  passed  she  listened  to  this  project,  which 
at  first  had  filled  her  with  horror,  with  a  willing  ear,  and  even 
began  to  devise  means  for  its  speedy  execution. 

Yes,  after  a  cruel  struggle,  she  finally  yielded  to  the  press- 
are  of  Clameran 's  politely  uttered  threats  and  Eaoul's  wheed- 
ling entreaties. 

**  Bat  how,*'  she  asked,  "  upon  what  pretext  can  I  receira 
Eaoul  ?*^ 

"  It  would  be  the  easiest  thing  in  the  world,"  replied  Clam©' 


FILE    HO.   lia  23ft 

ran,  "  to  admit  Iiim  as  an  ordinary  acquaintance,  and,  indeed, 
to  place  him  on  tlie  same  footing  which  I  myself  occupy — that 
of  an  intimate  friend  and  habitue  of  your  drawing-rooms.  But 
Eaoul  must  have  more  than  this;  he  needs  your  constant  care.*' 

After  torturing  Mme.  Fauvel  for  a  long  time,  he  finally  re- 
Tealed  his  scheme. 

"We  have  in  our  hands/*  he  said,  '*the  solution  of  thia 
problem  which  may  be  so  easily  reached  that  I  regard  it  as  an 
inspiration.''* 

Mme.  Fauvel  eagerly  scanned  his  face  as  she  listened  with 
the  pitiable  resignation  of  a  martyr. 

"  Have  you  not  a  cousin,  a  widow  lady,  who  had  two  daugh- 
ters living  at  St.  Eemy?**  asked  Louis. 

"  Yes,  Madame  de  Lagors.  ** 

"  Precisely  so.     What  fortune  has  she?" 

"  She  is  poor,  monsieur,  very  poor.** 

"  And,  but  for  the  assistance  you  render  her  secretly,  sht 
would  be  thrown  upon  the  charity  of  the  world.** 

Mme.  Fauvel  was  bewildered  at  finding  the  marquis  so  well 
informed  of  her  private  affairs. 

"  How  could  you  have  discovered  this?**  she  asked. 

"  Oh,  I  know  all  about  this  affair,  and  many  others  besides, 
I  know,  for  example,  that  your  husband  has  never  met  any 
of  your  relatives,  and  that  he  is  not  even  aware  of  the  existence 
of  your  cousin  De  Lagors.  Do  you  begin  to  comprehend  my 
plan?** 

She  not  only  understood  it,  but  also  knew  that  she  would 
end  by  being  a  party  to  it. 

"  All  will  succeed  if  you  follow  my  instructions,**  said 
Louis.  "  To-morrow  or  next  day,  you  will  receive  a  letter 
from  your  cousin  at  St.  Eemy,  telling  you  that  she  has  sent 
her  son  to  Paris  on  a  visit  and  begs  you  to  receive  and  watch 
over  him.  Naturally  you  show  this  letter  to  your  husband; 
and  a  few  days  afterward  he  warmly  welcomes  your  nephew, 
Raoul  de  Lagors,  a  handsome,  rich,  attractive  young  man  who 
does  everything  he  can  to  please  you  both.** 

"  Monsieur,**  replied  Mme.  Fauvel,  *'  my  cousin  is  a  pious, 
honorable  woman,  and  nothing  would  induce  her  to  counto» 
nance  so  shameful  a  transaction.*' 

The  marquis  smiled  scornfully,  and  said: 

**  Who  told  you  that  I  intended  to  confide  in  her?" 

**  But  you  would  be  obliged  to  do  so!    How  else?*' 

**  You  are  very  simple,  madame.  The  letter  which  yoq 
will  receive,  and  show  to  your  husband,  will  be  dictated  by 
me.  and  posted  at  St.  Hemv^  bv  ft  friend  of  mine.     If  J  spoilt 


336  FttB  NO.  118. 

of  the  obligations  under  which  you  hare  placed  your  congin,  {{ 
was  merely  to  show^  you  that,  in  case  of  accident,  her  own  in' 
terest  would  make  her  serve  you.  Do  you  see  any  obstacle  t« 
this  plan,  madame?'* 

Mme.  Fauvel's  eyes  flashed  with  indignation. 

"  Is  my  will  of  no  account?"  she  exclaimed.  "  You  seem 
to  have  made  your  arrangements  without  consulting  me  at 
ell.^' 

"  Excuse  me,"  said  the  marquis,  with  ironical  politeness; 
**  but  I  knew  that  you  would  take  the  same  view  of  the  matter 
&s  myself.  Your  good  sense  would  convince  you  of  the  neces- 
sity of  using  every  possible  means  of  rescuing  your  child  from 
destruction.  '* 

"  But  it  is  a  crime,  monsieur,  that  you  propose — an  abom- 
inable crime!     My  mind  revolts  at  the  very  idea  of  it." 

This  speech  seemed  to  arouse  all  the  bad  passion  slumbering 
in  Clameran's  bosom;  and  his  pale  face  had  a  fiendish  expres- 
sion as  he  fiercely  replied: 

"  We  had  better  end  this  humbuggery,  and  come  to  a  clear 
understanding  at  once.  Before  you  begin  to  talk  about  crime, 
think  over  your  past  life.  You  were  not  so  timid  and  scrupuloua 
when  you  gave  yourself  up  to  your  lover;  neither  did  you 
hesitate  to  faithlessly  refuse  to  share  his  exile,  although  for 
your  sake  he  had  just  jeopardized  his  life  by  killing  two  men. 
Vou  felt  no  scruples  at  abandoning  your  child  in  London; 
although  rolling  in  wealth,  you  never  even  inquired  if  this  poor 
waif  had  bread  to  eat.  You  felt  no  scruples  about  marrying 
Monsieur  Fauvel.  Did  you  tell  your  confiding  husband  oi  the 
lines  of  shame  concealed  beneath  that  orange  wreath?  Did 
you  hesitate  to  confirm  and  strengthen  his  happy  delusion, 
that  his  lips  had  pressed  the  first  kiss  upon  your  brow?  No! 
All  these  crimes  you  indulged  in;  and,  when  in  Gaston *g 
name  I  demand  reparation,  you  indignantly  refuse.  But, 
mark  my  words,  madame,  it  is  too  late!  You  ruined  the  fa- 
ther; but  you  shall  save  the  son,  or,  by  all  the  saints  in 
Heaven,  I  swear  you  shall  no  longer  cheat  the  world  of  ita 
esteem.'* 

*'  I  will  obey  you,  monsieur,*'  murmured  the  trembling, 
Wghtened  woman. 

The  following  week  Eaoul,  now  Raoul  de  Lagors,  was  seated 
Mt  the  banker's  dinner-table,  between  Mmo.  Fauvel  and  Made' 
leine. 


PILE    KO.    118.  237 


CHAPTEE  XVII. 

It  was  not  without  the  most  painful  suffering  and  self-con- 
demnation that  Mme.  Fauvel  submitted  to  the  will  of  the  piti- 
less Marquis  of  Clameran. 

She  had  used  every  argument  and  entreaty  to  soften  him; 
but  he  merely  looked  upon  her  with  a  triumphant,  sneering 
smile,  when  she  knelt  at  his  feet,  implored  him  to  be  merci- 
ful and  spare  her  the  shame  and  remorse  of  committing  an- 
other crime.  Spare  her  this  torture,  and  slie  would  grant 
anything  else  he  wished,  give  Eaoul  all  she  possessed  while 
alive,  and  insure  him  a  handsome  competency  after  her  death. 

Alas!  neither  tears  nor  prayers  moved  him.  Disappointed, 
and  almost  desperate,  she  sought  the  intercession  of  her  son. 

Raoul  was  in  a  state  of  furious  indignation  at  the  sight  of 
his  mother's  distress,  and  hastened  to  demand  an  apology 
from  Clameran. 

But  he  had  reckoned  without  his  host.  He  soon  returned 
with  downcast  eyes,  and  moodily  angry  at  his  own  powerless- 
ness,  declaring  that  safety  demanded  a  complete  surrender  to 
the  tyrant. 

Now  only  did  the  wretched  woman  fully  fathom  the  abyss 
into  which  she  was  being  dragged,  and  clearly  see  the  labyrinth 
of  crime  of  which  she  was  becoming  the  victim. 

And  all  this  suffering  was  the  consequence  of  a  fault,  an  in- 
terview granted  to  Gaston.  Ever  since  that  fatal  day  she  had 
been  vainly  struggling  against  the  implacable  logic  of  events. 
Her  life  had  been  spent  in  trying  to  overcome  the  past,  and 
now  it  had  risen  to  crush  her,. 

The  hardest  thing  of  all  to  do,  the  act  that  most  wrung  her 
heart,  was  showing  to  her  husband  the  forged  letter  from  St. 
Eemy,  and  saying  that  she  expected  to  see  her  rich  young 
nephew  in  a  day  or  two.  'Tis  hard  to  deceive  those  who  trust 
and  love  us. 

But  words  can  not  paint  the  torture  she  endured  on  the  even- 
ing that  she  introduced  Eaoul  to  her  family,  and  saw  the  hon- 
est banker  cordially  shake  hands  with  this  nephew  of  whom 
he  had  never  heard  before,  and  affectionately  say  to  him: 

"  I  am  not  surprised  that  a  rich  young  fellow  like  yourself 
should  prefer  Paris  to  St.  Eemy,  and  nothing  will  give  me 
^oie  pleasure  than  your  visit;  for  1  seldom  have  an  oppor- 


838  FILE    KO.    113. 

tunifcy  of  welcoming  a  relative  of  my  dear  wife,  for  whose  saka 
I  take  an  interest  in  every  one  coming  from  St.  Remy.'" 

Eaoul  exerted  his  utmost  to  deserve  this  warm  reception. 

If  his  early  education  had  been  neglected,  and  he  lacked 
those  delicate  refinements  of  manner  and  conversation  which 
home  iafluence  imparts,  his  superior  tact  concealed  these  de- 
fects. 

He  possessed  the  happy  faculty  of  reading  characters,  and 
adapting  his  conversation  to  the  minds  of  his  listeners. 

Before  a  week  had  gone  by,  he  was  a  favorite  with  M' 
Fauvel,  intimate  with  A^el  and  Lucien,  and  inseparable  fronr 
Prosper  Bertomy,  the  cashier,  who  spent  all  of  his  evenings 
with  the  banker's  family. 

Charmed  at  the  favorable  impression  made  by  Eaoul,  Mme. 
Fauvel  recovered  comparative  ease  of  mind,  and  at  times 
almost  congratulated  herself  upon  having  obeyed  the  marquis, 
as  she  saw  all  around  her  contented  and  happy.  Once  more 
she  began  to  hope  that  peace  had  not  deserted  her,  that  God 
had  forgiven  her. 

Alas!  she  rejoiced  too  soon. 

Eaoul's  intimacy  with  his  cousins  threw  him  among  a  set 
of  rich  young  men,  whose  extravagance  he  not  only  imitated, 
but  surpassed.  He  daily  grew  more  dissipated  and  reckless. 
Gambling,  racing,  expensive  suppers,  made  money  slip  through 
his  fingers  like  grains  of  sand. 

This  proud  young  man,  whose  sensitive  delicacy  not  long 
since  made  him  refuse  to  accept  aught  save  affection  from 
his  mother,  now  never  approached  her  without  demanding 
large  sums  of  money.  At  first  she  gave  with  pleasure,  not 
stopping  to  count  the  rolls  of  notes  she  would  eagerly  run  to 
bring  him.  But  as  he  each  time  increased  his  demands,  until 
they  finally  reached  a  sum  far  larger  than  she  could  bestow, 
her  eyes  were  opened  to  the  ruinous  effects  of  her  lavish  gen- 
erosity. 

This  rich  woman,  whose  magnificent  diamonds,  elegant  toilets, 
and  superb  equipages  were  the  admiration  and  envy  of  Paris, 
now  suffered  the  keenest  torture.  She  had  no  more  money  to 
give  her  son:  and  what  so  pains  the  female  heart  as  being  un- 
able to  gratify  the  wishes  of  a  beloved  being? 

Her  husband  never  thought  of  giving  her  a  fixed  sum  for 
the  year's  expenses,  or  of  asking  how  she  disposed  of  her 
money.  The  day  after  the  wedding  he  gave  her  a  key  to  his 
secretary,  and  told  her,  that  what  was  his  was  hers,  to  use  as 
she  thought  best.  And,  ever  since,  she  had  been  in  the  habit 
of  freely  taking  all  the  money  necessary  for  keeping  up  tha 


PILE  NO.  113.  289 

hospitable,  elegant  house  over  which  she  so  gracefully  pre- 
Bided;  for  her  own  dress,  and  many  charitable  purposes  that 
the  world  never  knew  of. 

But  the  fact  of  her  having  always  been  so  modest  in  her 
personal  expenses  that  her  husband  used  to  jestingly  say  that 
he  was  afraid  she  would  end  by  being  a  miser;  and  her  judi- 
cious, well-regulated  management  of  household  expenditures, 
causing  her  to  spend  much  the  same  amount  each  year — pre- 
vented her  now  being  able  to  dispose  of  large  sums,  without 
giving  rise  to  embarrassing  questions. 

M.  Fauvel,  the  most  generous  of  millionaires,  delighted  to 
see  his  wife  indulge  in  any  extravagance,  no  matter  how  fool- 
ish: but  he  would  naturally  expect  to  see  traces  of  the  money 
spent,  something  to  show  for  it. 

The  banker  might  suddenly  discover  that  double  the  usual 
amount  of  money  was  used  in  the  house;  and,  if  he  should  ask 
the  cause  of  this  astonishing  outlay,  what  answer  could  she 
give? 

In  three  months  Eaoul  had  squandered  a  little  fortune.  In 
the  first  place,  he  was  obliged  to  have  bachelor's  apartments, 
prettily  furnished,  and  a  handsome  outfit  from  a  fashionable 
tailor,  besides  the  thousand  little  things  indispensable  to  a 
society  man;  he  must  have  a  blooded  horse  and  coupe.  His 
doting  mother  felt  it  her  duty  to  give  him  these  luxuries,  when 
her  other  sons  were  enjoying  everything  of  the  sort,  besides 
many  other  advantages  of  which  her  poor  Eaoul  was  deprived. 
But  each  day  the  extravagance  of  his  fancies  increased,  and 
Mme.  Fauvel  began  to  be  alarmed  when  his  demands  far  ex- 
ceeded her  ability  to  gratify  them. 

When  she  would  gently  remonstrate,  EaouPs  beautiful  eyes 
would  fill  with  tears,  and  in  a  sad,  humble  tone  he  would  say: 

*'  Alas!  you  are  right  to  refuse  me  this  gratification.  What 
claim  have  I?  I  must  not  forget  that  I  am  only  the  poor  son 
of  Valentine,  not  the  rich  banker's  child!" 

This  touching  repentance  wrung  her  heart,  so  that  she  always 
ended  by  granting  him  more  than  he  had  asked  for.  The  poor 
boy  had  suffered  so  much  that  it  was  her  duty  to  console  him, 
and  atone  for  her  past  neglect. 

She  soon  discovered  that  he  was  jealous  and  envious  of  his 
two  brothers — for,  after  all,  they  were  his  brothers — Abel  and 
Lucie  n. 

"  You  never  refuse  them  anything,"  he  would  resentfully 
say.  "  They  were  fortunate  enough  to  enter  life  by  the  golden 
gate.     Their  every  wish  is  gratiOfed;  they  enjoy  wealth,  posi' 


240  FILE    NO.    113. 

tion,  home  affection,  and  have  a  splendid  future  awaiting 
them." 

*' But  what  is  lacking  to  your  happiness,  my  son?  Have 
vou  not  everything  that  money  can  give.''  and  are  you  not  first 
m  my  affections?"  asked  his  distressed  mother. 

"  What  do  I  want?  Apparently  nothing,  in  reality  every- 
thing. Do  I  possess  anything  legifeimately?  What  right  have 
I  to  your  affection,  to  the  comforts  and  luxuries  you  heap  upon 
me,  to  the  name  I  bear?  Is  not  my  life  an  extortion,  my  very 
birth  a  fraud?*' 

When  Raoul  talked  in  this  strain,  she  would  weep,  and  over- 
whelm him  with  caresses  and  gifts,  until  she  imagined  that 
every  jealous  thought  was  banished  from  his  mind. 

As  spring  approached,  she  told  Raoul  she  designed  him  to 
fipend  the  summer  in  the  country,  near  her  villa  at  St.  Ger- 
main. She  wanted  to  have  him  with  her  all  the  time,  and  this 
was  the  only  way  of  gratifying  her  wish.  She  was  surprised 
to  find  her  proposals  readily  acquiesced  in.  In  a  few  days  he 
told  her  he  had  rented  a  little  house  at  Vesinet,  and  intended 
having  his  furniture  moved  into  it. 

"  Then,  just  think,  dear  mother,  what  a  happy  summer  we 
will  spend  togetherl'*  he  said,  with  beaming  eyes. 

She  was  delighted  for  many  reasons,  one  of  which  was  that 
the  expenses  of  the  prodigal  son  would  necessarily  be  lessened. 
Anxiety  as  to  the  exhausted  state  of  her  finances  made  her 
bold  enough  to  chide  him  at  the  dinner-table  one  day  for  hav- 
ing lost  two  thousand  francs  at  the  races  that  morning. 

"  You  are  severe,  my  dear,''  said  M.  Fauvel,  with  the  care- 
lessness of  a  rich  man,  who  considered  this  sum  a  mere  trifle. 
"  Mamma  Lagors  won't  object  to  footing  his  bills;  mammas 
are  created  for  the  special  purpose  of  paying  bills." 

And,  not  observing  that  his  wife  had  turned  pale  at  these 
jocular  words,  he  turned  to  Raoul,  and  added: 

"  Don't  disturb  yourself  about  a  small  sum  like  this,  my 
boy;  when  you  want  money,  come  to  me." 

What  could  Mme.  Fauvel  say?  Had  she  not  followed 
Clameran's  orders,  and  told  her  husband  that  Raoul  was 
wealthy?  'She  could  not  go  now  and  tell  him  that  he  would 
never  recover  any  money  which  he  lent  to  a  penniless  spend- 
thrift. 

Why  had  she  been  made  to  tell  this  unnecessary  lie? 

She  suspected  the  snare  laid  for  her;  but  now  it  was  too  late 
to  escape  it;  struggles  would  only  more  de«ply  entangle  her  in 
its  meshes. 


PILE    KO.    113.  S41 

The  banker's  offer  was  soon  accepted.  That  same  week 
Raoul  went  to  his  uncle's  bank,  and  boldly  borrowed  ten 
thousand  francs. 

When  Mme.  Fauvel  heard  of  this  piece  of  audacity,  she 
wrung  her  hands  in  despair. 

*'  What  can  lie  want  with  so  much  money?*'  she  moaned  to 
herself:  "  what  wicked  extravagance  is  it  for?"  For  some 
time  Clameran  had  kept  away  from  Mme.  Fauvel's  house. 
She  decided  to  write  and  ask  him  to  come  and  advise  her  as  to 
what  steps  should  be  taken  to  check  Eaoul. 

She  hoped  that  this  energetic,  determined  man,  who  was  so 
fully' awake  to  his  duties  as  a  guardian  and  an  uncle,  would 
make  Eaoul  listen  to  reason,  and  instantly  refund  the  borrowed 
money. 

When  Clameran  had  heard  what  his  graceless  nephew  had 
done,  his  surprise  and  anger  were  unbounded.  He  expressed 
so  much  indignation  against  Raoul  that  Mme.  Eauvel  was 
frightened  at  the  storm  she  had  raised,  and  began  to  make  ex- 
cuses for  her  son. 

While  they  were  discussing  the  matter,  Eaoul  came  in,  and 
4  violent  altercation  ensued  between  him  and  Clameran. 

But  the  suspicions  of  Mme.  Fauvel  were  aroused;  she 
watched  them,  and  it  seemed  to  her — could  it  be  possible? — 
that  their  anger  was  feigned;  that,  although  they  abused  and 
even  threatened  each  other  in  the  bitterest  language,  their  eyes 
twinkled  with  amusement. 

She  dared  not  breathe  her  doubts;  but,  like  a  subtle  poison 
which  disorganizes  everything  with  which  it  comes  in  contact, 
this  new  suspicion  filled  her  thoughts  and  added  to  her  already 
intolerable  suife rings. 

Yet  she  never  once  thought  of  blaming  Eaoul;  nor  for  a 
moment  did  she  feel  displeased  with  her  idolized  son.  She  ac- 
cused the  marquis  of  taking  advantage  of  the  youthful  weak- 
nesses and  inexperience  of  his  nephew. 

She  knew  that  she  would  have  to  suffer  insolence  and  extor- 
tion from  this  man  who  had  her  completely  in  his  power;  but 
she  could  not  imagine  what  object  he  now  had  in  view,  for  she 
plainly  saw  that  he  was  aiming  at  something  more  than  his 
nephew's  success  in  life.  He  constantly  concealed  some  plan 
to  benefit  himself  at  her  expense;  but,  assuredly,  her  darling 
Eiaoul  could  not  be  an  accomplice  in  any  plot  to  harass  her. 

Clameran  himself  soon  cleared  her  mind  of  all  doubts. 

One  day,  after  complaining  more  bitterly  than  usual  of 
llaoul,  and  proving  to  Mme.  Fauvel  that  it  was  impossible  for 
this  state  of  affairs  to  continue  much  longer  and  that  a  catas* 


242  FILE    NO.    113. 

troplio  was  inevitable,  he  wound  up  by  saying  there  was  on« 
means  of  salvation  left. 

This  was  that  he,  Clameran,  must  marry  Madeleine  I 

Mme.  Fauvel  was  prepared  for  almost  any  base  proposal 
save  this  one.  She  knew  that  his  cupidity  and  insolence 
stopped  at  nothing,  but  never  did  she  imagine  he  would  have 
the  wild  presumption  to  aspire  to  Madeleine's  hand. 

If  she  had  renounced  all  hope  of  happiness  for  herself,  if  she 
consented  to  the  sacrifice  of  her  own  peace  of  mind,  it  was  be- 
cause she  thus  hoped  to  insure  the  undisturbed  felicity  of  her 
household,  of  her  husband,  whom  she  had  sinned  against. 

This  unexpected  declaration  shocked  her,  and,  for  a  mo- 
ment, she  was  speechless. 

"  Do  you  suppose  for  an  instant,  monsieur,'*  she  indignant- 
ly exclaimed,  "  that  I  will  consent  to  any  such  disgraceful  proj- 
ect?   Sacrifice  Madeleine,  and  to  your" 

"  I  certainly  do  suppose  so,  madame;  in  fact,  I  am  certain 
of  it,"  he  answered,  with  cool  insolence. 

"  What  sort  of  a  woman  do  you  think  I  am,  monsieur? 
Alas,  am  I  to  eternally  suffer  for  a  fault  committed  twenty 
years  ago;  have  I  not  already  been  more  than  adequately  pun- 
ished? And  does  it  become  you  to  be  constantly  reproaching 
me  with  my  long-past  imprudence?  You  have  no  right  to  be 
thus  harassing  me,  till  I  dare  not  say  my  life  is  my  own !  Your 
power  is  at  an  end,  and  God  only  knows  how  deeply  I  regret 
having  ever  been  insane  enough  to  yield  to  its  base  sway!  So 
long  as  I  alone  was  to  be  the  tool,  you  found  me  weak  and 
timid;  but  now  that  you  seek  the  ruin  of  those  I  love,  I  rebel 
against  your  usurped  authority.  I  have  still  a  little  conscience 
left,  and  nothing  under  heaven  will  force  me  to  sacrifice  my 
gentle,  pure- hearted  Madeleine!" 

*'  May  I  inquire,  madame,  why  you  regard  Mademoiselle 
Madeleine's  becoming  the  Marchioness  of  Clameran  as  a  dis- 
grace and  a  sacrifice?" 

"  My  niece  chose,  of  her  own  free  will,  a  husband  whom  she 
will  shortly  marry.     She  loves  Monsieur  Prosper  Bertomy." 

Tire  marquis  disdainfully  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

*'  A  school-girl  love  affair,"  said  he,  '*  she  will  forget  all 
about  it,  if  you  wish  her  to  do  so. " 

"  I  do  not  wish  it.     I  wish  her  to  marry  him." 

*'  Listen  to  me,"  he  replied,  in  the  low,  suppressed  tone  of  a 
man  trying  to  control  himself;  "  let  us  not  waste  time  in  these 
idle  discussions.  Hitherto  you  have  always  commenced  by 
protesting  against  my  proposed  plans,  and  in  the  end  acknowl- 
edging the  good  sense  and  justness  of  my  arguments;  for 


FILE    NO.    113.  343 

once,  why  not  yield  without  going  through  with  the  customary 
preliminaries?     I  ask  it  as  a  favor.'' 

"  Never,''  said  Mme.  Fauvel,  "  never  will  I  yield." 
Clameran  paid  no  attention  to  this  interruption,  but  went 
on: 

*'  I  insist  upon  this  marriage,  mainly  on  your  account, 
although  it  will  enable  me  to  re-establish  my  own  affairs,  aa 
well  as  yours  and  Raoul's.  Of  course,  you  see  that  the  allow- 
ance you  give  your  son  is  insuflficieut  for  his  extravagant  style 
of  living.  The  time  approaches  when,  having  nothing  more 
to  give  him,  you  will  have  to  encroach  upon  your  husband's 
money-drawer  to  such  an  extent  that  longer  concealment  will 
be  impossible.  When  that  day  comes,  what  is  to  be  done? 
Perhaps  you  have  some  feasible  plan  of  escape?" 

Mme.   Fauvel  shuddered.     The  dreadful  day  of  discovery 
could  not  be  far  off,  and  no  earthly  way  was  there  to  escape  it. 
The  marquis  went  on: 

*'  Assist  me  now,  and,  instead  of  having  to  make  a  shame- 
ful confession,  you  will  thank  me  for  having  saved  you.    Made- 
moiselle Madeleine  is  rich;  her  dowry  will  enable  me  to  supply 
the  deficiency,  and  spate  you  all  further  anxiety  about  Raoul. " 
"  I  would  rather  be  ruined  than  be  saved  by  such  means." 
*'  But  I  will  not  permit  you  to  ruin  us  all.     Eemem'^er, 
madame,  that  we  are  associated  in  a  common  cause,  the  future 
welfare  of  Raoul;  and,  although  you  have  a  right  to  rush  upon 
destruction  yourself,  you  certainly  shall  not  drag  us  with  you.'* 
"  Cease  your  importunities,"  she  said,  looking  him  steadily 
in  the  eye.     "  I  have  made  up  my  mind  irrevocably." 
"  To  what?" 

*'  To  do  everything  and  anything  to  escape  your  shameful 
persecution.  Oh!  you  need  not  smile.  I  shall  throw  myself 
at  Monsieur  Fauvel's  feet  and  confess  everything.  He  is  noble- 
hearted  and  generous,  and,  knowing  how  I  have  suffered,  will 
forgive  me." 

"  Do  you  think  so?"  said  Clameran,  derisively. 
'*  You  mean  to  say  that  he  will  be  pitiless,  and  banish  me 
from  his  roof.    So  be  it;  it  will  only  be  what  I  deserve.    There 
is  no  torture  that  I  can  not  bear  after  what  I  have  suffered 
through  you." 

This  inconceivable  resistance  so  upset  all  the  marquis's  plana 
that  he  lost  all  constraint,  and,  dropping  the  mask  of  polite- 
ness, appeared  in  his  true  character. 

"  Indeed!"  he  said,  in  a  fierce,  brutal  tone,  "  so  you  havt 
decided  to  confess  to  your  loving,  magnanimous  husband!  A 
fftiftous  ideal    What  a  pity  you  did  not  think  of  it  before;  ii 


244  FILE    KO.    113. 

is  rather  late  to  try  it  now.  Confessing  everything  the  first 
day  I  called  on  you,  yoa  might  have  been  forgiven.  Your 
husband  might  have  pardoned  a  youthful  fault  atoned  for  by 
twenty  years  of  irreproachable  conduct;  for  none  can  deny  that 
you  have  been  a  faithful  wife  and  a  good  mother.  But  pictup« 
the  indignation  of  your  trusting  husband,  when  you  tell  him 
that  this  pretended  nephew,  whom  you  imposed  upon  his  fam- 
ily circle,  who  sat  at  his  table,  who  borrowed  his  money,  ia 
your  illegitimate  son!  Monsieur  Fauvel  is,  no  doubt,  an  excel- 
lent-hearted man;  but  I  scarcely  think  he  will  pardon  a  decep- 
tion of  this  nature,  which  .betrays  such  depravity,  duplicity, 
and  audacity." 

All  that  the  angry  marquis  said  was  horribly  true,  yet  Mme. 
Fauvel  listened  unflinchingly,  as  if  the  coarse  cruelty  of  hia 
words  strengthened  her  resolution  to  have  nothing  more  to  do 
with  him,  but  to  throw  herself  on  her  husband's  mercy. 

"  Upon  my  soul,'*  he  went  on,  "you  must  be  very  much 
infatuated  with  this  Monsieur  Bertomy!  Between  the  honor 
of  your  husband's  name,  and  pleasing  this  love-sick  cashier, 
you  refuse  to  hesitate.  Well,  I  suppose  he  will  console  you. 
When  Monsieur  Fauvel  divorces  you,  and  Abel  and  Lucien 
avert  their  faces  at  your  approach,  and  blush  at  being  your 
sons,  you  will  be  able  to  say,  '  I  have  made  Prosper  happy!'  " 

"  Happen  what  may,  I  shall  do  what  is  right,"  said  Mme. 
Fauvel. 

"  You  shall  do  what  I  say!"  cried  Clameran,  threateningly. 
"  Do  you  suppose  that  I  will  allow  your  sentimentality  to  blast 
all  my  hopes:  1  shall  tolerate  no  such  folly,  madame,  I  can 
assure  you.  Your  niece's  fortune  is  indispensable  to  us,  and, 
more  than  that — 1  love  the  fair  Madeleine,  and  am  determined 
to  marry  her." 

The  blow  once  struck,  the  marquis  judged  it  prudent  to 
await  the  result.     With  cool  politeness,  he  continued: 

"  I  will  leave  you  now,  madame,  to  think  the  matter  over, 
and  you  can  not  fail  to  view  it  in  the  same  light  as  I  do.  You 
had  better  take  my  advice,  and  consent  to  this  sacrifice  of 
prejudice,  as  it  will  be  the  last  required  of  you.  Think  of 
the  honor  of  your  family,  and  not  of  your  niece's  love  affair. 
I  will  return  in  three  daya>  for  your  answer." 

"  Your  return  is  unnecessary,  monsieur;  I  shall  tell  my 
husband  everything  to-night." 

If  Mme.  Fauvel  had  not  been  so  agitated  herself,  she  would 
have  detected  an  expression  of  alarm  upon  Clameran 's  face. 

But  this  uneasiness  was  only  momentary.  With  a  shrug 
wjiich  meant,  "  Just  as  you  olease,"  he  said: 


FILE    KO.    113.  *MS 

"  I  tliink  you  have  sense  enough  to  keep  your  secret.  *' 

He  bowed  ceremoniously,  and  left  the  room,  bub  slammecj 
the  front  door  after  him  so  violently  as  to  prove  that  his  re' 
strained  anger  burst  forth  before  Iwiving  the  house. 

Clameran  had  cause  for  fear.  Mme.  FauveFs  determina 
tion  was  not  feigned.     She  was  firm  in  her  resolve  to  confess. 

"Yes,"  she  cried,  with  the  enthusiasm  of  a  noble  resolu- 
tion; "  yes,  I  will  tell  Andre  everything!'' 

She  believed  herself  to  be  alone,  but  turned  around  sud- 
denly at  the  sound  of  footsteps,  and  found  herself  face  to  faca 
with  Madeleine,  who  was  pale  and  swelled-eyed  from  weeping. 

"  You  must  obey  this  man,''  she  quietly  said. 

Adjoining  the  parlor  was  a  little  card-room  separated  only 
by  a  heavy  silk  curtain,  instead  of  a  door. 

Madeleine  was  sitting  in  this  little  room  when  the  marquig 
arrived,  and  as  there  was  no  egress  save  through  the  parlor, 
had  remained,  and  thus  overheard  the  conversation. 

"Good  Heaven!"  cried  Mme.  Fauvel,  with  terror.  "Do 
pu  know — " 

"  I  know  everything,  aunt.'* 

"  And  you  wish  me  to  sacrifice  you  to  this  fiend?" 

"  I  implore  you  to  let  me  save  you  from  misery. " 

"  You  certainly  despise  and  hate  Monsieur  de  Clameran; 
how  can  you  think  I  would  let  you  marry  him?'* 

"  I  do  despise  him,  aunt,  and  shall  always  regard  him  aa 
the  basest  of  men;  nevertheless,  I  will  marry  him." 

Mme.  Fauvel  was  overcome  by  the  magnitude  of  tliis  devo- 
tion. 

"  And  what  is  to  become  of  Prosper,  my  poor  child — Pros- 
per whom  you  love?" 

Medeleine  stifled  a  sob,  and  said  in  a  firm  voice: 

"  To-morrow  I  will  break  off  my  engagement  with  Monsieur 
Bertomy." 

"  I  will  never  permit  such  a  wrong,"  cried  Mme.  Fauvel. 
*'  I  will  not  add  to  my  sins  by  suffering  an  innocent  girl  to 
bear  their  penalty." 

The  noble  girl  sadly  shook  her  head  and  replied: 

"  Neither  will  I  suffer  dishonor  to  fall  upon  this  house, 
which  is  my  home,  while  I  have  power  to  prevent  it.  Am  1 
not  indebted  to  you  for  more  than  life?  What  would  1  now 
be  had  you  not  taken  pity  on  me?  A  factory  girl  in  my  native 
village.  You  warmly  welcomed  the  poor  orphan,  and  became 
a  mother  to  her.  Is  it  not  to  your  husband  that  I  owe  the 
fortune  which  excites  the  cupidity  of  this  wicked  Clameran? 
Are  not  Abel  and  Lucien  brothers  to  me?    And  now,  when 


246  PILE  so.  113. 

the  happiness  of  all  who  have  been  loving  and  generous  to  m* 
is  at  stake,  do  you  suppose  I  would  hesitate?  No.  I  will  be-- 
come  the  wife  of  Clameran. " 

Then  began  a  struggle  of  self-sacrifice  between  Mme. 
Fauvel  and  her  niece,  as  to  which  should  be  the  victim;  only 
the  more  sublime,  because  each  offered  her  life  to  the  othaz", 
not  from  any  sudden  impulse,  but  deliberately  and  willingly. 

But  Madeleine  carried  the  day,  fired  as  she  was  by  that  holy 
enthusiasm  of  sacrifice  which  is  the  sustaining  element  of 
martyrs. 

"  I  am  responsible  to  none  but  myself,**  said  she,  well 
knowing  this  to  be  the  most  vulnerable  point  she  could  attack; 
"  whilst  you,  dear  aunt,  are  accountable  to  your  husband  and 
children.  Think  of  the  pain  and  sorrow  of  Monsieur  Fauvel 
if  he  should  learn  the  truth;  it  would  kill  him.** 

The  generous  girl  was  right.     She  knew  her  uncle*s  heart. 

After  having  sacrified  her  husband  to  her  mother,  Mme. 
Fauvel  was  about  to  immolate  her  husband  and  children  for 
Eaoul. 

As  a  general  thing,  a  first  fault  draws  many  others  in  its 
train.  As  an  impalpable  flake  is  the  beginning  of  an  aval- 
anche, so  an  imprudence  is  often  a  prelude  to  a  great  crime. 

To  false  situations  there  is  but  one  safe  issue — truth. 

Mme.  Fauvel's  resistance  grew  weaker  and  more  faint,  as 
her  niece  pointed  out  the  line  for  her  to  pursue;  the  path  of 
wifely  duty. 

"But,**  she  faintly  argued,  "I  can  not  accept  your  sacri- 
fice.    What  sort  of  a  life  will  you  lead  with  this  man?** 

"We  can  hope  for  the  best,**  replied  Madeleine,  with  a 
cheerfulness  she  was  far  from  feeling;  "  he  loves  me,  he  says; 
perhaps  he  will  be  kind  to  me.** 

"  Ah,  if  I  only  knew  where  to  obtain  money!  It  is  money 
that  the  grasping  man  wants;  money  alone  will  satisfy  him.'* 

"  Does  he  not  want  it  for  Eaoul?  Has  not  Raoul,  by  his 
extravagant  follies,  dug  an  abyss  which  must  be  bridged  over 
by  money?     If  I  could  only  believe  Monsieur  de  Clameran!** 

Mme.  Fauvel  looked  at  her  niece  with  bewildered  curiosity. 

What!  this  inexperienced  girl  had  weighed  the  matter  in 
its  different  lights  before  deciding  upon  a  surrender;  whereas, 
she,  a  wife,  and  a  mother,  had  blindly  yielded  to  the  inspira- 
tions of  her  heart! 

"  What  do  you  mean?    Madeleine,  what  do  you  suspect?** 

*'  I  mean  this,  aunt;  that  I  do  not  believe  that  Clameran  has 
any  thought  of  his  nephew's  welfare.     Once  in  possession  of 


PILE  NO.  113.  247 

my  fortune,  he  may  leave  you  and  Raoul  to  your  fates.     And 
there  is  another  dreadful  suspicion  that  tortures  my  mind.'* 

"  A  suspicion?'* 

"  Yes,  and  I  would  reveal  it  to  you,  if  I  dared;  if  I  did  not 
fear  that  you — " 

"Speak!''  insisted  Mme.  Fauvel.  "Alas!  misfortune  has 
given  me  strength  to  bear  all  things.  There  is  nothing  worse 
than  has  alreadj''  happened.  lam  ready  to  hear  anything.'" 
Madeleine  hesitated;  she  wished  to  enlighten  her  incredulous 
aunt,  and  yet  hesitated  to  distress  her. 

"  I  would  like  to  be  certain,"  she  said,  **  that  some  secret 
understanding  between  Monsieur  de  Clameran  and  Eaoul  does 
not  exist.  Do  you  not  think  they  are  acting  a  part  agreed 
upon  for  the  purpose  of  extorting  money?" 

Love  is  blind  and  deaf.  Mme.  Fauvel  would  not  remem- 
Der  the  laughing  eyes  of  the  two  men,  upon  the  occasion  of 
the  pretended  quarrel  in  her  presence.  Infatuation  had 
drowned  suspicion.  She  could  not,  she  would  not,  believe  in 
fiuch  hypocrisy.     Raoul  plot  against  his  mother?    Never! 

"  It  is  impossible,"  she  said;  ''  the  marquis  is  really  indig- 
nant and  distressed  at  his  nephew's  mode  of  life,  and  he  cer- 
tainly would  not  countenance  any  disgraceful  conduct.  As  to 
Raoul,  he  is  vain,  trifling,  and  extravagant;  but  he  has  a  good 
heart.  Prosperity  has  turned  his  head,  but  he  loves  me  still. 
Ah,  if  you  could  see  and  hear  him  when  I  reproach  him  for 
his  faults,  your  suspicions  would  fly  to  the  winds.  When  he 
tearfully  promises  to  be  more  prudent,  and  never  again  give 
me  trouble,  he  means  to  keep  his  word;  but  perfidious  friends 
entice  him  away,  and  he  commits  some  piece  of  folly  without 
thinking  of  the  consequences." 

Mothers  always  blame  themselves  and  every  one  else  for  the 
«ins  of  their  sons.  The  innocent  friends  come  in  for  the  prin- 
cipal share  of  the  censure,  each  mother's  son  leading  the  other 
astray. 

Madeleine  had  not  the  heart  to  undeceive  her  aunt. 

*'  God  grant  that  what  you  say  may  be  true,"  she  said;  "  if 
BO,  this  marriage  will  not  be  useless.  We  will  write  to  Mon- 
gieur  de  Clameran  to-night." 

"Why  to-night,  Madeleine?  We  need  not  hurry  so.  Let 
(as  wait  a  little,  something  might  happen  to  save  us." 

These  words,  this  confidence  in  chance,  in  a  mere  nothing' 
revealed  Mme.  Fauvel's  true  character,  and  accounted  for  hei 
troubles.  Timid,  hesitating,  easily  swayed,  she  never  could 
-come  to  a  firm  decision,  form  a  resolution  and  abide  by  it  in 
<pite  of  all  arguments  brought  to  bear  against  it.     In  the  hour 


248  PILE  KO.  113. 

of  peril  she  would  always  shut  her  eyes,  and  trust  to  chance  for 
a  relief  which  never  came.  Never  once  did  she  think  to  ward 
off  trouble  by  her  own  exertions. 

Quite  different  was  Madeleine's  character.  BeneaCh  her 
gentle  timidity  lay  a  strong,  self-reliant  will.  Once  decided 
upon  what  was  right  and  just,  nothing  could  change  her.  It 
was  her  duty  to  make  a  sacrifice,  it  was  to  be  carried  out  to 
the  letter;  no  hesitation  and  sighs  for  what  might  have  been; 
she  shut  out  all  deceitful  illusions,  and  walked  straightforward 
without  one  look  back. 

*'We  had  better  end  the  matter  at  once,  dear  aunt,'*  she 
said,  in  a  gentle  but  firm  tone.  "  Believe  me,  the  reality  of 
misf ortime  is  not  as  painful  as  its  apprehension.  You  can  not 
bear  the  shocks  of  sorrow  and  delusive  hopes  of  happiness 
much  longer.  Do  you  know  what  anxiety  of  mind  has  done 
to  you?  Have  you  looked  in  the  mirror  during  the  last  four 
months?" 

She  led  her  aunt  up  to  the  glass  and  said: 

"  Look  at  yourself." 

Mme.  Fauvel  was,  indeed,  a  mere  shadow  of  her  former 
self. 

She  had  reached  the  perfidious  age  when  a  woman's  beauty, 
like  a  full-blown  rose,  fades  in  a  day. 

Four  months  of  trouble  had  made  her  an  old  woman.  Sor- 
row had  stamped  its  fatal  seal  upon  her  brow.  Her  fair,  soft 
skin  was  wrinkled,  her  golden  hair  was  streaked  with  silver, 
arwl  her  large,  soft  eyes  had  a  painful  frightened  look. 

'*  Do  you  not  agree  with  me,"  continued  Madeleine,  pity- 
ingly, "  that  peace  of  mind  is  necessary  to  you?  Do  you  not 
see  that  you  are  a  wreck  of  your  former  self?  It  is  a  miracle 
that  Monsieur  Fauvel  has  not  noticed  this  sad  change  in  youl" 

Mme.  Fauvel,  who  flattered  herself  that  she  had  displayed 
wonderful  dissimulation,  shook  her  head. 

*'  Alas,  my  poor  aunt!  you  think  you  concealed  your  secret 
from  all;  you  may  have  blinded  my  uncle,  but  1  suspected  all 
along  that  something  dreadful  was  breaking  your  heart." 

"  You  suspected  what,  Madeleine?     Not  the  truth?" 

*'  No,  I  was  afraid —  Oh!  pardon  an  unjust  suspicion,  my 
dear  aunt,  but  I  was  wicked  enough  to  suppose — " 

She  stopped,  too  distressed  to  finish  her  sentence;  then, 
making  a  painful  effort,  she  added,  as  her  aunt  signed  her  to 
go  on: 

"  I  was  afraid  that  perhaps  you  loved  another  man  than  my 
nncle;  it  was  the  only  construction  that  1  could  put  upon  youi 
strange  conduct.  '* 


FILE  Na    113.  240 

Mme.  Fauvel  buried  her  face,  and  groaned.     Madeleine'i* 
Buspicion  was,  no  doubt,  entertained  by  others. 
My  reputation  is  gone!"  ^e  moaned. 

"  No,  dear  aunt,  no;  do  not  be  alarmed  about  that.  No 
one  has  had  occasion  to  obserre  you  as  I  have;  it  was  only  a 
dreadful  thought  which  penetrated  my  mind  in  spite  of  my 
endeavors  to  dispel  it.  Have  courage:  we  two  can  fight  the 
world  and  silence  our  enemies.  You  shall  be  saved,  aunt; 
only  trust  in  me.'^ 

The  Marquis  of  Clameran  was  agreeably  surprised  that 
evening  by  receiving  a  letter  from  Mme.  Fauvel,  saying  that 
she  consented  to  everything,  but  must  have  a  little  time  to 
carry  out  the  plan. 

Madeleine,  she  said,  could  not  break  off  her  engagement 
with  M.  Bertomy  in  a  day.  M.  Fauvel  would  make  objec- 
tions, for  he  had  an  afEection  for  Prosper,  and  had  tacitly  ap- 
proved of  the  match.  It  would  be  wiser  to  leave  to  time  the 
smoothing  away  of  certain  obstacles  which  a  sudden  attack 
might  render  insurmountable. 

A  line  from  Madeleine,  at  the  bottom  of  the  letter,  assured 
him  that  she  fully  concurred  with  her  aunt. 

Poor  girl,  she  did  not  spare  herself.  The  next  day  she  took 
Prosper  aside,  and  forced  from  him  the  fatal  promise  to  shun 
her  in  the  future,  and  to  take  upon  himself  the  responsibility 
of  breaking  their  engagement. 

He  implored  Madeleine  to  at  least  explain  the  reason  of  this 
banishment,  which  destroyed  all  of  his  hopes  for  happiness. 

She  quietly  replied  that  her  peace  of  mind  and  honor  de- 
pended upon  his  blind  obedience  to  her  will. 

He  left  her  with  death  in  his  soul. 

As  he  went  out  of  the  house,  the  marquis  entered. 

Yes,  he  had  the  audacity  to  come  in  person,  to  tell  Mme. 
Fauvel  that,  now  he  had  the  promise  of  herself  and  Madeleine, 
he  would  consent  to  wait  awhile. 

He  himself  saw  the  necessity  of  patience,  knowing  that  he 
was  not  liked  by  the  banker. 

Having  the  aunt  and  niece  on  his  side,  or  rather  in  hia 
power,  he  was  certain  of  success.  He  said  to  himself  that  the 
moment  would  come  when  a  deficit  impossible  to  be  paid 
would  force  them  to  hasten  the  wedding. 

Raoul  did  all  he  could  to  bring  matters  to  a  crisis. 

Mme.  Fauvel  went  sooner  than  usual  to  her  country-seat, 
i,nd  Eaoul  at  once  moved  into  his  house  at  Vesinet.  But  liv< 
Ing  in  the  country  did  not  lessen  his  expenses. 

Gradually  he  laid  aside  all  hypocrisy,  and  now  only  came  t« 


250  MLE   ISO.   113. 

Bee  "his  mother  when  he  waivted  money;  and  his  demands  wcrf 
frequent  and  more  exorbitant  each  time. 

As  for  the  marquis,  he  prudently  absented  himself,  await 
ing  the  propitious  moment. 

At  the  end  of  three  weeks  he  met  the  banker  at  a  friend's, 
and  was  invited  to  dinner  the  next  day. 

Twenty  people  were  seated  at  the  table;  and,  as  the  dessert 
was  being  served,  the  bankor  suddenly  turned  to  Clameran, 
find  said: 

"  I  have  a  piece  of  news  for  you,  monsieur.  Have  you  any 
relatives  of  your  name?'' 

"  None  that  I  know  of,  monsieur.  *' 

*'  I  am  surprised.  About  a  week  ago  I  became  acquainted 
with  another  Marquis  of  Olameran." 

Although  so  hardened  by  crime,  impudent  enough  \o  deny 
anything,  Clameran  was  so  taken  aback  that  he  sat  with  pala 
face  and  a  blank  look,  silently  staring  at  M.  Fauvel. 

But  he  soon  recovered  enough  self-control  to  say  hurriedly: 

*'  Oh,  indeed!  That  is  strange.  A  Clameran  may  existf 
but  I  can  not  understand  the  title  of  marquis.'* 

M.  Fauvel  was  not  sorry  to  have  the  opportunity  of  annoy- 
ing a  guest  whose  aristocratic  pretensions  had  often  piqued 
him. 

"  Marquis  or  not,"  he  replied,  "  the  Clamerau  in  question 
seems  to  be  able  to  do  honor  to  the  title." 

"  Is  he  rich?" 

"  I  have  reason  to  suppose  that  he  is  very  wealthy.  T  have 
been  notified  to  collect  for  him  four  hundred  thousand  francs.'' 

Clameran  had  a  wonderful  faculty  of  self-control;  he  had  so 
schooled  himself  that  his  face  never  betrayed  what  was  passing 
in  his  mind.  But  this  news  was  so  startling,  so  strange,  so 
pregnant  of  danger,  that  his  usual  assurance  deserted  him. 
He  detected  a  peculiar  look  of  irony  in  the  banker's  eye. 

The  only  persons  who  noticed  this  sudden  change  in  the 
marquis's  manner  were  Madeleine  and  her  aunt.  They  saw 
him  turn  pale,  and  exchange  a  meaning  look  with  Raoul. 

*'  Then  I  suppose  this  new  marquis  is  a  merchant,"  said 
Clameran,  after  a  moment's  pause. 

"  That  I  don't  know.  All  that  I  know  is  that  four  hun- 
dred thousand  francs  are  to  be  deposited  to  his  account  by 
some  ship-owners  at  Havre,  after  the  sale  of  the  cargo  of  H 
Brazilian  ship." 

"  Then  he  comes  from  Brazil?" 

*•  I  do  not  know,  but  I  can  give  you  his  Christian  name." 

"  I  would  be  obhged. " 


fILE  NO.  113.  25X 

M.  Fanvel  arose  from  the  table,  and  brought  from  the  next 
room  a  memorandum-book,  and  began  to  read  over  the  names 
written  in  it. 

"  Wait  a  moment,"  he  said,  **  let  me  see — the  22d,  no,  it 
was  later  than  that.     Ah,  here  it  is:  Clameran,  Gaston. '* 

But  this  time  Louis  betrayed  no  emotion  or  alarm;  he  had 
had  sufficient  time  to  recover  his  self-possession,  and  nothing 
could  now  throw  him  off  his  guard. 

*'  Gaston!"  he  queried,  carelessly.  "  I  know  who  he  is  now. 
He  must  be  the  son  of  my  father's  sister,  whose  husband  lived 
at  Havana.  I  suppose,  upon  his  return  to  France,  he  must 
have  taken  his  mother's  name,  which  is  more  sonorous  than 
his  father's,  that  being,  if  I  recollect  aright,  Moirot  or  Boirot." 

The  banker  laid  down  his  memorandum-book,  and,  resum- 
ing his  seat,  went  on: 

"  Boirot  or  Clameran,^'  said  he,  *'  I  hope  to  have  the  pleas- 
are  of  inviting  you  to  dine  with  him  before  long.  Of  the  four 
bundred  thousand  francs  which  I  was  ordered  to  collect  for 
him,  he  only  wishes  to  draw  one  hundred,  and  tells  me  to 
keep  the  rest  on  running  account.  I  judge  from  this  that  he 
intends  coming  to  Paris." 

"  I  shall  be  delighted  to  make  his  acquaintance. " 

Clameran  broached  another  topic,  and  seemed  to  have  en- 
tirely forgotten  the  news  told  him  by  the  banker. 

Although  apparently  engrossed  in  the  conversation  of  his 
neighbor  at  the  table,  he  closely  watched  Mme.  Fauvel  and  her 
niece. 

He  saw  that  they  were  unable  to  conceal  their  agitation,  and 
itealthily  exchanged  significant  looks. 

Evidently  the  same  terrible  idea  had  crossed  their  minds. 

Madeleine  seemed  more  nervous  and  startled  than  her  aunt. 
When  M.  Fauvel  uttered  Gaston's  name,  she  saw  Eaoul  begin 
to  draw  back  his  chair  and  glance  in  a  frightened  manner  to- 
ward the  window,  like  a  detected  thief  looking  for  means  of 
escape. 

Eaoul,  less  experienced  than  his  uncle,  was  thoroughly  dis- 
countenanced. He,  the  original  talker,  the  lion  of  a  dinner- 
party, never  at  a  loss  for  some  witty  speech,  was  now  perfectly 
dumb;  he  sat  anxiously  watching  Louis. 

At  last  the  dinner  ended,  and  as  the  guests  passed  into  the 
drawing-room,  Clameran  and  Eaoul  managed  to  remain  last 
in  the  dining-room. 

When  they  were  alone,  they  no  longer  attempted  to  conceal 
thoir  anxiety. 

"  It  is  he!"  said  Eaoul. 


252  FILE    NO.    113, 

**  I  nave  no  doubt  of  it." 

**  Then  all  is  lost;  we  had  better  make  our  escape." 

But  a  bold  adventurer  like  Clameran  had  no  idea  of  giving 
np  the  ship  till  forced  to  do  so. 

*'  Who  knows  what  may  happen?"  he  asked,  thoughtfully. 
'*  There  is  hope  yet.  "Why  did  not  that  muddle-headed  bank- 
er tell  us  where  this  Clameran  is  to  be  found?'' 

Here  he  uttered  a  joyful  exclamation.  He  saw  M.  FauvePi 
memorandum-book  lying  on  the  table. 

"  Watch  !'*  he  said  to  Raoul. 

Seizing  the  note-book,  he  hurriedly  turned  over  the  leaves, 
And,  in  an  under-tone,  read: 

Gaston,  Marquis  of  Clameran,  Oloron,  Lower  Pyrenees. " 

'*  Well,  does  finding  out  his  address  assist  us?'*  inquired 
liaoul,  eagerly. 

"  It  may  save  us,  that  is  all.  Let  us  return  to  the  drawing- 
room;  our  absence  might  be  observed.  Exert  yourself  to  ap- 
pear unconcerned  and  gay.  You  almost  betrayed  us  once  by 
your  agitation." 

"  The  two  women  suspect  something." 

**  Well,  suppose  they  do?" 

"  The  best  thing  that  we  can  do  is  to  escape;  the  sooner  we 
leave  Paris  the  better." 

"  Do  you  think  we  should  do  any  better  in  London?  Don't 
be  so  easily  frightened.  I  am  going  to  plant  my  batteries, 
and  I  warrant  they  will  prove  successful." 

They  joined  the  other  guests.  But,  if  their  conversation 
had  not  been  overheard,  their  movements  had  been  watched. 

Madeleine  looked  through  the  half-open  door,  and  saw 
Clameran  consulting  her  uncle's  note-book,  and  whispering  to 
Raoul.  But  what  benefit  would  she  derive  from  this  proof  of 
the  marquis's  villainy?  She  knew  now  that  he  was  plotting 
to  obtain  her  fortune,  and  she  would  be  forced  to  yield  it  to 
him;  that  he  had  squandered  his  brother's  fortune,  and  wa* 
now  frightened  at  the  prospect  of  having  to  account  for  it 
Still  this  did  not  explain  Raoul's  conduct.  Why  did  he  show 
such  fear? 

Two  hours  later,  Clameran  was  on  the  road  to  Vesinet  with 
Kaoul,  explaining  to  him  his  plans. 

"It  is  my  precious  brother,  and  no  mistake,"  he  said. 
*'  But  that  need  not  alarm  you  so  easily,  my  lovely  nephew. " 

**  Merciful  powers!  Don't  the  banker  expect  to  see  him  any 
day?     Is  he  not  liable  to  pounce  down  on  me  to-morrow?" 

"  Don't  be  an  idiot!"  interrupted  Clameran.  *'  Does  he 
know  that  Fauvel  is  Valentine's  husbandf     That  is  what  we 


PILE  NO.  113.  253 

iDust  find  out.  If  he  knows  that  little  fact,  we  must  take  to 
our  heels;  if  he  is  ignorant  of  it,  our  case  is  not  desperate. '^ 

"  How  will  you  find  out?'' 

**  By  simply  asking  him.'" 

Raoul  exclaimed  at  his  ally's  cunning. 

''  That  is  a  dangerous  thing  to  do,"  he  said. 

"  'Tis  not  as  dangerous  as  sitting  down  with  our  hands 
foldedo  And,  as  to  running  away  at  the  first  suspicion  of 
alarm,  it  would  be  imbecility." 

"  Who  is  going  to  look  for  him?" 

"I  am." 

"Oh,  oh,  oh!"  exclaimed  Raoul,  in  three  different  tones. 
Clameran's  audacity  confounded  him. 

'*  But  what  am  I  going  to  do?"  he  inquired,  after  a  mo- 
ment's silence. 

"  You  will  oblige  me  by  remaining  here  and  keeping  quiet. 
I  will  send  you  a  dispatch  if  there  is  danger;  and  then  you  can 
decamp." 

A&  they  parted  at  Raoul's  door,  Clameran  said: 

"  Now  remember.  Stay  here,  and  during  my  absence  be 
very  intimate  at  your  devoted  mother's.  Be  the  most  dutiful 
of  sons.  Abuse  me  as  much  as  you  please  to  her;  and,  above 
all,  don't  indulge  in  any  folly;  make  no  demands  for  money; 
keep  your  eyes  open.  Good-bye.  To-morrow  evening  I  will 
be  at  Oloron  talking  with  this  new  Clameran." 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

After  leaving  Valentine  de  la  Verberie,  Gaston  underwent 
great  peril  and  difiicultyin  effecting  his  escape. 

But  for  the  experienced  and  faithful  Menoul,  he  never  would 
have  succeeded  in  embarking. 

Having  left  his  mother's  jewels  with  Valentine,  his  sole 
fortune  consisted  of  not  quite  a  thousand  francs,  and  with  this 
paltry  sum  in  his  pocket,  the  murderer  of  two  men,  a  fugitive 
from  justice,  and  with  no  prospect  of  earning  a  livelihood,  he 
took  passage  for  Valparaiso. 

While  Gaston  remained  concealed  in  a  farm-house  at  Cam- 
argue,  Menoul  went  to  Marseilles,  and  that  very  evening  dis- 
coven-xl  from  some  of  his  sailor  friends,  that  a  three-masted 
American  vessel  was  in  the  roadstead,  whose  commander, 
Captain  Warth,  a  not  overscrupulous  Yankee,  would  be  glad 
to  welcome  on  board  an  able-bodied  man,  who  would  be  of 
UssTstance  to  him  at  sea. 

After  visiting  the  vessel  and  finding,  during  a  conversation 


254  FILE    NO.    113. 

over  a  glass  of  rum  with  the  captain,  that  he  was  quite  willing 
to  take  a  sailor  without  disturbing  himself  about  his  antece- 
dents, Menoul  returned  to  Gaston. 

"  Left  to  my  own  choice,  monsieur,**  he  said,  "  I  should 
have  settled  this  matter  on  the  spot;  but  you  might  object  to 
it.** 

*'  What  suits  you,  suits  me,**  interrupted  Gaston. 

"  You  see,  tlie  fact  is,  you  will  be  obliged  to  work  very  hard. 
A  sailor's  life  is  not  boy's  play.  You  will  not  find  much 
pleasure  in  it.  And  I  must  confess  that  the  ship's  company  is 
not  the  most  moral  one  I  ever  saw.  You  never  would  imagine 
yourself  in  a  Christian  company.  And  the  captain  is  a 
regular  swaggering  bully.  ** 

"  I  have  no  choice,**  said  Gaston.  *'  Let  ns  go  on  board  at 
once.  ** 

Old  Menoul's  suspicions  were  correct. 

Before  Gaston  had  been  on  board  the  "  Tom  Jones  *'  forty- 
eight  hours,  he  saw  that  chance  had  cast  him  among  a  colleo- 
fcion  of  the  most  depraved  bandits  and  cut-throats. 

The  vessel,  which  seemed  to  have  recruited  at  all  points  ef 
the  compass,  possessed  a  crew  composed  of  every  variety  of 
thievish  knaves;  each  country  had  contributed  a  specimen. 

But  Gaston's  mind  was  undisturbed  as  to  the  character  of 
the  people  with  whom  his  lot  was  cast  for  several  months. 

It  was  only  his  miserable  wounded  body  that  the  vessel  was 
carrying  to  a  new  country!  His  heart  and  soul  rested  in  the 
shady  park  of  La  Verberie,  beside  his  beloved  Valentine.  He 
took  no  nott  of  the  men  around  him,  but  lived  over  again 
those  precious  hours  of  bliss  beneath  the  old  tree  on  the  banks 
of  the  Rhone,  where  his  beloved  liad  confided  her  heart  to  his 
keeping,  and  sworn  to  love  him  forever. 

And  what  would  become  of  her  now,  poor  child,  when  he 
was  no  longer  there  to  love,  console,  and  defend  her? 

Happily,  he  had  no  time  for  sad  reflections. 

His  every  moment  was  occupied  in  learning  the  rough  ap- 
prenticeship of  a  sailor's  life.  All  of  his  energies  were  spent 
in  bearing  up  under  the  heavy  burden  of  labor  allotted  to  him. 
Being  totally  unaccustomed  to  manual  work,  he  found  it  diffi- 
cult to  keep  pace  with  the  other  sailors,  and  for  the  first  week 
or  two  he  was  often  near  fainting  at  his  post  from  sheer 
fatigue;  but  indomitable  energy  kept  him  up. 

This  was  his  salvation.  Physical  suffering  calmed  and  dead- 
ened his  mental  agony.  The  few  hours  relaxation  granted 
nim  were  spent  in  heavy  sleep;  the  instant  his  weary  bodj 


FILE    NO.    113.  255 

tonched  his  bunk,  his  eyes  closed,  and  no  moment  did  he  hav«> 
to  mourn  over  the  past. 

At  rare  intervals,  when  the  weather  was  calm,  and  he  way 
relieved  from  his  constant  occupation  of  trimming  the  sails, 
he  would  anxiously  question  the  future,  and  wonder  what  he 
should  do  when  this  irksome  voyage  was  ended. 

He  had  sworn  that  he  would  return  before  the  end  of  three 
years,  rich  enough  to  satisfy  the  exactions  of  Mme.  de  la  Ver- 
berie.  How  should  he  be  able  to  keep  this  boastful  promise? 
Stern  reality  had  convinced  him  that  his  projects  could  never 
be  realized,  except  by  hard  work  and  long  waiting.  What  he 
hoped  to  accomplish  in  three  years  was  likely  to  require  a 
life-time. 

Judging  from  the  conversation  of  his  companions,  he  was 
not  now  on  the  road  to  fortune. 

The  "Tom  Jones'*  set  sail  for  Valparaiso,  but  certainly 
went  in  a  roundabout  way  to  reach  her  destination. 

The  real  fact  was,  that  Captain  Warth  proposed  visiting  the 
Gulf  of  Guinea. 

A  friend  of  his,  the  *'  Black  Prince,'*  he  said,  with  a  loud 
laugh,  was  waiting  for  him  at  Badagri,  to  exchange  a  cargo  of 
*'  ebony "  for  some  pipes  of  rum,  and  a  hundred  flint-lock 
muskets,  which  were  on  board  the  *'  Tom  Jones.'* 

Gaston  soon  saw  that  he  was  serving  his  apprenticeship  on  a 
slaver,  one  of  the  many  ships  sent  yearly  by  the  free  and 
philanthropic  A.mericans,  who  made  immense  fortunes  by 
carrying  on  the  slave  trade. 

Although  this  discovery  filled  Gaston  with  indignation  and 
shame,  he  was  prudent  enough  to  conceal  his  impressions. 

His  remonstrances,  no  matter  how  eloquent,  would  have 
made  no  change  in  the  opinions  of  Captain  Warth  regarding 
a  traffic  which  brought  him  in  more  than  a  hundred  per  cent., 
in  spite  of  the  French  and  English  cruisers,  the  damages, 
sometimes  entire  loss  of  cargoes,  and  many  other  risks. 

The  crew  admired  Gaston  when  they  learned  that  he  had 
cut  two  men  into  mince-meat  when  they  were  insolent  to  him; 
this  was  the  account  of  Gaston's  affair,  as  reported  to  the  cap- 
tain by  old  Menoul. 

Gaston  wisely  determined  to  keep  on  friendly  terms  with 
the  villains  as  long  as  he  was  in  their  power.  To  express  dis- 
approval of  their  conduct  would  have  incurred  the  enmity  of 
the  whole  crew,  without  bettering  his  own  situation. 

He  therefore  kept  quiet,  but  swore  mentally  that  he  would 
desert  on  tke  first  opportunity. 


256  FILE    KO.    113. 

This  opportunity,  like  everything  impatiently  longed  for. 
came  not. 

By  the  end  of  three  months,  Gaston  had  become  so  nsefuJ 
and  popular  that  Captain  Warth  found  him  indispensable. 

Seeing  him  so  intelligent  and  agreeable,  he  liked  to  have  him 
at  his  own  table,  and  would  spend  hours  at  cards  with  him  or 
consulting  about  his  business  matters.  The  mate  of  the  ship 
dying,  Gaston  was  chosen  to  replace  him.  In  this  capacity  he 
made  two  successful  voyages  to  Guinea,  bringing  back  a  thou- 
sand blacks,  whom  he  superintended  during  a  trip  of  fifteen 
hundred  leagues,  and  finally  landed  them  on  the  coast  of 
Brazil. 

When  Gaston  had  been  with  Captain  Warth  about  three 
years,  the  *'  Tom  Jones  "  stopped  at  Rio  Janeiro  for  a  month, 
to  lay  in  supplies.  He  now  decided  to  leave  the  ship,  although 
he  had  become  somewhat  attached  to  the  friendly  captain, 
who  was  after  all  a  worthy  man,  and  never  would  have  en- 
gaged in  the  diabolical  traffic  of  human  beings,  but  for  his 
little  angel  daughter's  sake.  He  said  that  his  child  was  so 
good  and  beautiful,  that  she  deserved  a  large  fortune.  Each 
time  that  he  sold  a  black,  he  would  quiet  any  faint  qualms  of 
conscience  by  saying,  "  It  is  for  little  Mary's  good.'*  , 

Gaston  possessed  twelve  thousand  francs,  as  his  share  of  the 
profits,  when  he  landed  at  Brazil. 

As  a  proof  that  the  slave-trade  was  repugnant  to  his  nature, 
he  left  the  slaver  the  moment  he  possessed  a  little  capital  with 
which  to  enter  some  honest  business. 

But  he  was  no  longer  the  high-minded,  pure-hearted  Gas- 
ton,  who  had  so  devotedly  loved  and  periled  his  life  for  the 
little  fairy  of  La  Verberie. 

It  is  useless  to  deny  that  evil  examples  are  pernicious  to 
morals.  The  most  upright  characters  are  unconsciously  in- 
fluenced by  bad  surroundings.  As  the  exposure  to  rain,  sun. 
and  sea-air  first  darkened  and  then  hardened  the  skin,  so  did 
wicked  associates  first  shock  and  then  destroy  the  refinement 
and  purity  of  Gaston's  mind.  His  heart  had  become  as  har^l 
and  coarse  as  his  sailor  hands.  He  still  remembered  Valen- 
tine, and  sighed  for  her  presence;  but  she  was  no  longer  i\v>, 
sole  object  of  his  affection,  the  one  woman  in  the  world  to 
him.     Contact  with  sin  had  lowered  his  standard  of  women. 

Three  years,  after  which  he  had  pledged  himself  to  return, 
had  passed;  perhaps  Valentine  was  expecting  him.  Before 
deciding  on  any  definite  project,  he  wrote  to  an  intimate  friend 
at  Beaucaire  to  learn  mmSt  bad  happened  during  his  long  ab- 


FILE    SO.    113.  ?;5I 

Bence.    He  expressed  great  anxiety  about  his  family  and  neigh 
bors. 

He  also  wrote  to  his  father,  asking  why  he  had  never  an« 
Bwered  the  many  letters  which  he  had  sent  to  him  by  returning 
sailors,  who  would  have  safely  forwarded  the  replies. 

At  the  end  of  a  year,  he  received  an  answer  from  his  friend. 
This  letter  almost  drove  him  mad. 

It  told  him  that  his  father  was  dead;  that  his  brother  had 
left  France,  Valentine  was  lately  married,  and  that  he,  Gas- 
ton, had  been  sentenced  to  ten  years'  imprisonment  for  murv 
der. 

Henceforth  he  was  alone  in  the  world,  with  no  country,  no 
family,  no  home,  and  disgraced  by  a  public  sentence. 

Valentine  was  married,  and  he  had  no  object  in  life!  He 
would  hereafter  have  faith  in  no  one,  since  she,  Valentine,  had 
cast  him  off,  forgotten  him.  What  could  he  expect  of  others, 
when  she  had  broken  her  troth,  had  lacked  the  courage  to 
keep  her  promise  and  wait  for  him? — she,  whom  he  had  so 
trusted. 

In  his  despair,  he  almost  regretted  the  "Tom  Jones.*' 
Yes,  he  sighed  for  the  wicked  slaver  crew,  his  life  of  excite- 
ment and  peril.  The  dangers  and  triumphs  of  those  old 
Eirates,  whose  only  care  was  to  heap  up  money,  would  have 
een  preferable  to  his  present  wretchedness. 

But  Gaston  was  not  a  man  to  be  long  cast  down. 

"  Money  is  the  cause  of  it  all  I'*  he  said  with  rage.  *'  If  the 
lack  of  money  can  bring  such  misery,  its  possession  must  be- 
stow intense  happiness.  Henceforth  I  will  devote  all  my 
energies  to  getting  money.'* 

He  set  to  work  with  a  greedy  activity,  which  increased  each 
day.  He  tried  all  the  many  speculations  open  to  advent- 
urers. Alternately  he  traded  in  furs,  worked  a  mine,  and 
cultivated  lands. 

Fives  times  he  went  to  bed  rich,  and  waked  up  ruined;  five 
times  with  the  patience  of  the  castor,  whose  hut  is  swept  away 
by  each  returning  tide,  he  recommenced  the  foundation  of  hia 
fortune. 

Finally,  after  long  weary  years  of  toil  and  struggle,  he  was 
worth  a  million  in  gold,  besides  immense  tracts  of  land. 

He  had  often  said  that  he  M'ould  never  leave  Brazil,  that  he 
wanted  to  end  his  days  in  Bio.  He  had  foi-gotten  that  love 
for  his  native  land  never  dies  in  the  heart  of  a  Frenchman. 
Now  that  he  was  rich,  he  wished  to  die  in  France. 

He  made  inquiries,  and  found  that  the  law  of  limitations 
would  permit  him  to  return  without  being  disturbed  by  the 


258  FILE  NO    113. 

authorities.  He  left  his  property  in  charge  of  an  agent,  and 
embarked  for  France,  taking  a  large  portion  of  his  fortune 
with  him. 

Twenty- three  years  and  four  months  had  elapsed  since  tu» 
fled  from  home. 

On  a  bright,  crisp  day  in  January,  1866^  he  once  again 
stepped  on  French  soil.  With  a  sad  heart,  he  stood  upon  the 
quays  at  Bordeaux,  and  compared  the  past  with  the  present. 

He  had  departed  a  young  man,  ambitious,  hopeful,  and  be  , 
loved:  he  returned  gray-haired,  disappointed,  trusting  no  one 

Gold  could  not  supply 'the  place  of  affection.  He  had  said 
that  riches  would  bring  happiness;  his  wealth  was  immense, 
and  he  was  miserable. 

His  health,  too,  began  to  suffer  from  this  sudden  change  of 
climate.  Eheumatism  confined  him  to  his  bed  for  several 
months.  As  soon  as  he  could  sit  up,  the  physicians  sent  him 
to  the  warm  baths,  where  he  recovered  his  health,  but  not  hia 
spirits.  He  felt  his  lonely  condition  more  terribly  in  his  own 
country  than  when  in  a  foreign  land. 

He  determined  to  divert  his  mind  by  engaging  in  some  oc- 
cupation which  would  keep  him  too  busy  to  think  of  himself 
and  his  disappointment.  Charmed  with  the  beauty  of  the 
Pyrenees,  and  the  lovely  valley  of  the  Aspe,  he  resolved  to  take 
up  his  abode  there. 

An  iron-mill  was  for  sale  near  Oloron,  on  the  borders  of  the 
Gara;  he  bought  it  with  the  intention  of  utilizing  the  im- 
mense quantity  of  wood,  which,  for  want  of  means  of  trans- 
portation, was  being  wasted  in  the  mountains. 

He  was  soon  settled  comfortably  in  his  new  home,  and  en- 
joying a  busy,  active  life. 

One  evening,  as  he  was  ruminating  over  the  past,  the  serv- 
ant brought  him  a  card,  and  said  the  gen  tleman  was  waiting 
to  see  him. 

He  read  the  name  on  the  card:  Louis  de  Clameran. 

Many  years  had  passed  since  Gaston  had  experienced  such 
violent  agitation.  His  blood  rushed  to  his  face,  and  he  trem' 
bled  like  a  leaf. 

The  old  home  affections  which  he  thought  dead  now  sprung 
ap  anew  in  his  heart.  A  thousand  confused  memories  rushed 
tnrough  his  mind.  Like  one  in  a  dream,  he  tottered  toward 
the  door,  gasping,  in  a  smothered,  broken  voico; 

**  My  brother!  oh,  my  brother!*' 

Hurriedly  passing  by  the  frightened  servant,  he  ran  down* 
stairs. 

In  the  passage  stood  a  man;  it  W8g  Ijoais  de  Glamerao* 


PILB   KO.   113. 

Gaston  threw  his  arms  around  his  nech  and  held  him  in  a 
close  embrace  for  some  minutes,  and  then  drew  him  into  the 
room. 

Seated  close  beside  him,  with  his  two  hands  tightly  clasped 
in  those  of  Louis,  Gaston  gazed  at  his  brother  as  a  fond  moth- 
er could  gaze  at  her  son  just  returned  from  the  battle-field. 

There  was  scarcely  any  danger  and  excitement  which  the 
mate  of  the  redoubtable  Captain  Warth  had  not  experienced; 
nothing  had  ever  before  caused  him  to  lose  his  calm  presence 
of  mind,  to  force  him  to  betray  that  he  had  a  heart.  The  sight 
of  this  long  unseeen  brother  seemed  to  have  changed  his  nat- 
ure; he  was  like  a  woman,  weeping  and  laughing  at  once. 

"  And  is  this  really  Louis?^'  he  cried.  "  My  dear  brother! 
Why,  I  should  have  recognized  you  among  a  thousand;  the 
expression  of  your  face  is  just  the  same;  your  smile  taiies  me 
back  twenty-three  years. " 

Louis  did  indeed  smile,  just  as  he  smiled  on  that  fatal  night 
when  his  horse  stumbled,  and  prevented  Gaston's  escape. 

He  smiled  now  as  if  he  was  perfectly  happy  at  meeting  his 
brother. 

And  he  was  much  more  at  ease  than  he  had  been  a  few  mo- 
ments before.  He  had  exerted  all  the  courage  he  possess«d  to 
venture  upon  this  meeting.  Nothing  but  pressing  necessity 
would  have  induced  him  to  face  his  brother,  who  seemed  to 
have  arisen  from  the  dead  to  reproach  him  for  his  crimes. 

His  teeth  chattered,  and  he  trembled  in  every  limb  when  he 
rang  Gaston's  bell,  and  handed  the  servant  his  card,  saying: 

"  Take  this  to  your  master." 

The  few  moments  before  Gaston's  appearance  seemed  to  be 
centuries.     He  said  to  himself: 

"  Perhaps  it  is  not  he;  if  it  is  he,  does  he  know?  Does  he 
suspect  anything?     How  will  he  receive  me?" 

He  was  so  anxious  that,  when  he  saw  Gaston  running  down- 
stairs, he  felt  like  fleeing  from  the  house  without  speaking  to 
him. 

Not  knowing  the  nature  of  .Gaston's  feelings — whether  he 
was  hastening  toward  him  in  anger  or  bi'otherly  love — he  stood 
perfectly  motionless.  But  one  glance  at  his  brother's  face 
convinced  him  that  he  was  the  same  affectionate,  credulous, 
trusting  Gaston  of  old;  and,  now  that  he  was  certain  that  his 
brother  harbored  no  suspicions,  he  smilingly  received  the 
demonstrations  lavished  upon  him. 

"After  all,"  continued  Gaston,  "I  am  not  alone  in  the 
world;  I  shaU  have  some  one  to  love,  some  one  to  care  for 
rao." 


260  FILE    NO.    113. 

Then,  as  if  suddenly  struck  by  a  thought,  he  swd: 

**  Are  you  married,  Louis?'* 

"No/* 

**  That  is  a  pity — a  great  pity.  It  would  so  add  to  my  hap* 
piness  to  see  you  the  husband  of  a  good,  affectionate  woman, 
the  father  of  bright,  lovely  children!  It  would  be  a  comfork 
to  have  a  happy  family  about  me.  I  should  look  upon  them 
all  as  my  own.  To  live  alone  without  a  loving  wife  to  share 
Dne's  joys  and  sorrows,  is  not  living  at  all:  it  is  a  sort  of  liv-  ^ 
ing  death.  There  is  no  joy  equal  to  having  the  affection  of  a 
true  woman  whose  happiness  is  in  your  keeping.  Oh,  the 
Badness  of  having  only  one's  self  to  care  for!  But  what  am  1 
saying?  Louis,  forgive  me.  I  have  you  now,  and  ought  not 
that  to  be  enough?  I  have  a  brother,  a  kind  friend  who  will 
be  interested  in  me,  and  afford  me  company,  instead  of  the 
weariness  of  solitude.'* 

"  Yes,  Gaston,  yes;  I  am  your  best  friend." 

"  Of  course  you  are.  Being  my  brother,  you  are  naturally 
my  true  friend.  You  are  not  married,  you  say.  Then  we  will 
have  to  do  the  best  we  can,  and  keep  house  for  ourselves. 
We  will  live  together  like  two  old  bachelors,  as  we  are,  and 
be  as  happy  as  kings;  we  will  lead  a  gay  Hfe  and  enjoy  every- 
thing that  can  be  enjoyed.  I  feel  twenty  years  younger 
already.  The  sight  of  your  face  renews  my  youth,  and  I  feel 
as  active  and  strong  as  I  did  the  night  I  swam  across  the 
Bwollen  Rhone.  And  that  was  long,  long  ago.  The  struggles, 
privations,  and  anxieties  endured  since  have  been  enough  to 
age  any  man.     I  feel  old,  older  than  my  years." 

"  What  an  idea!"  interrupted  Louis;  "  why,  you  look 
younger  than  I  do. " 

"  You  are  jesting. " 

"  I  swear  I  think  you  look  the  younger." 

*'  Would  you  have  recognized  me?"  t 

"  Instantly.     You  are  very  little  changed. " 

And  Louis  was  right.  He  himself  had  an  old,  worn-out, 
used-up  appearance;  while  Gaston,  in  spite  of  his  gray  hair 
•liid  weather-beaten  face,  was  a  robust  man,  in  the  full  ma- 
turity of  his  prime. 

It  was  a  relief  to  turn  from  Lonis's  restless  eyes  and  crafty 
Smile  to  Gaston's  frank,  honest  face. 

**  But,"  said  Gaston,  '*  how  did  you  know  that  I  was  living? 
What  kind  chance  guided  you  to  my  house?" 

Louis  was  prepared"  for  this  question.  During  his  eighteen 
hours'  ride  by  the  railway,  he  Wd  arranged  all  his  answerer 
o4  had  his  story  ready 


PILE  NO.   113.  261 

"  We  must  thank  Providence  for  this  happy  meeting/*  he 
rephed.  "  Three  days  ago,  a  friend  of  mine  returned  from 
the  baths,  and  mentioned  that  he  had  heard  that  a  Marquis  of 
Clameran  was  near  there,  and  in  the  Pyrenees.  You  can  im- 
agine my  surprise.  I  instantly  supposed  that  some  impostor 
had  assumed  our  name.  I  took  the  next  train,  and  finally 
found  my  way  here. ' ' 

"  Then  you  did  not  expect  to  see  me?'* 
"  My  dear  brother,  how  could  I  hope  for  that?    I  thought 
that  you  were  drowned  twenty-three  years  ago.*' 

*'  Drowned!  Mademoiselle  de  la  Verberie  certainly  told  you 
of  my  escape.  She  promised  that  she  would  go  herself,  the 
next  day,  and  tell  my  father  of  my  safety." 

Louis  assumed  a  distressed  look,  as  if  he  hesitated  to  tell  the 
sad  truth,  and  said,  in  a  regretful  tone: 
"  Alas!  she  never  told  us." 

Gaston's  eyes  flashed  with  indignation.  He  thought  that 
perhaps  Valentine  had  been  glad  to  get  rid  of  him. 

"  (She  did  not  tell  you?"  he  exclaimed.  "  Did  she  have  the 
cruelty  to  let  you  mourn  my  death?  to  let  my  old  father  die 
of  a  broken  heart?  Ah,  she  must  have  been  very  fearful  of 
what  the  world  says.  She  sacrificed  me,  then,  for  the  sake  of 
her  reputation." 

'*  But  why  did  you  not  write  to  us?"  asked  Louis. 
"  I  did  write  as  soon  as  I  had  an  opportunity;  and  Lafour- 
cade  wrote  back,  saying  that  my  father  was  dead,  and  that 
you  had  left  the  country." 

"  I  left  Clameran  because  I  believed  you  to  be  dead." 
After  a  long  silence  Gaston  arose,  and  walked  up  and  down 
the  room  as  if  to  shake  oflE  a  feeling  of  sadness,  then  he  said 
cheerfully: 

"  Well,  it  IS  of  no  use  to  mourn  over  the  past.  All  the 
memories  in  the  world,  good  or  bad,  are  not  worth  one  slender 
hope  for  the  future;  and  thank  God,  we  have  a  bright  future 
before  us.     Let  us  bury  the  past,  and  enjoy  life  together." 

Louis  was  silent.  His  footing  was  not  sure  enough  to  risk 
any  questions. 

"  But  here  I  have  been  talking  incessantly  fur  an  hour," 
said  Gaston,  *'  and  I  dare  say  that  you  have  not  dined." 
*'  No,  I  have  not,  I  confess." 

**  Why  did  you  not  say  so  before?    I  forgot  that  I  had  not 

dined  myself.     I  will  not  let  you  starve,  the  first  day  of  your 

arrival.     I  will  make  amends  by  giving  you  some  splendid  old 

Cape  wine." 

He  pulled  the  bell-  and  ordered  ^e  servant  to  hasten  diof 


262  FILE   KO.   113. 

ner,  adding  that  it  must  be  an  excellent  one;  and  within  aq 
hour  the  two  brothers  were  seated  at  a  sumptuous  repast. 

Gaston  kept  up  an  uninterrupted  stream  of  questions.  Hi 
wished  to  know  all  that  had  happened  during  his  absence. 

**  What  about  Clameran?"  he  abruptly  asked. 

Louis  hesitated  a  moment.  Should  he  tell  the  truth,  ol 
»ot? 

"  I  have  sold  Clameran,"  he  finally  said. 

"  The  chateau  too?" 

"  Yes." 

**  You  acted  as  you  thought  best,"  said  Gaston,  sadly: 
"  but  it  seems  to  me  that,  if  I  had  been  in  your  place,  I  should 
have  kept  the  old  homestead.  Our  ancestors  lived  there  for 
many  generations,  and  our  father  lies  buried  there.'' 

Then  seeing  Louis  appear  sad  and  distressed,  he  quickly 
added: 

*'  However,  it  is  just  as  well:  it  is  in  the  heart  that  memory 
dwells,  and  not  in  a  pile  of  old  stones.  I  myself  had  not  the 
courage  to  return  to  Provence.     I  could  not  trust  myself  to 

fo  to  Clameran,  where  I  would  have  to  look  into  the  park  of 
la  Verberie.     Alas,  the  only  happy  moments  of  my  life  were 
spent  there!*' 

Louis's  countenance  immediately  cleared.  The  certainty 
that  Gaston  had  not  been  to  Provence  relieved  his  mind  of  an 
immense  weight. 

The  next  day  Louis  telegraphed  to  Eaoul: 

'*  Wisdom  and  prudence.  Follow  my  directions.  All  goes 
well.     Be  sanguine." 

All  was  going  well;  and  yet  Louis,  in  spite  of  his  skillfully 
plied  questions,  had  obtained  none  of  the  information  which 
he  had  come  to  obtain. 

Gaston  was  communicative  on  every  subject  except  the  one 
in  which  Louis  was  interested.  Was  this  silence  premeditated, 
or  simply  unconscious?  Louis,  like  all  villains,  was  ever  ready 
to  attribute  to  others  the  bad  motives  by  which  he  himseii 
would  be  influenced. 

Anything  was  better  than  this  uncertainty;  he  determined 
to  ask  his  brother  plainly  what  his  intentions  were  in  regard 
to  money  matters. 

He  thought  the  dinner-table  a  favorable  opportunity,  and 
began  by  saying: 

Do  you  know,  my  dear  Gaston,  that  thus  far  we  have  dis- 
cussed every  topic  except  the  most  important  one?" 

"  Why  do  you  look  so  solemn,  Louis?  What  is  the  gravi 
rabject  of  which  you  speak? ' ' 


FILE  NO.  113.  263 

'*  Our  father's  estate.  Supposing  you  to  be  dead,  I  in- 
herited, and  have  disposed  of  it," 

"  Is  that  what  you  call  a  serious  matter?"  said  Gaston, 
with  an  amused  smile. 

"  It  certainly  is  very  serious  to  me;  as  you  have  a  right  to 
half  the  estate.     I  must  account  to  you  for  it.     You  have — '* 

"  I  have,"  interrupted  Gaston,  "  a  right  to  ask  you  never 
to  allude  to  the  subject  again.     It  is  yours  by  limitation." 

"  I  can  not  accept  it  upon  those  terms.'* 

"  But  you  must.  My  father  only  wished  to  have  one  of  m 
inherit  his  property;  we  will  be  carrying  out  his  wishes  by  not 
dividing  it." 

Seeing  that  Louis's  face  still  remained  clouded,  he  went  on: 

"  Ah,  I  see  what  annoys  you,  my  dear  Louis;  you  are  rich, 
ftnd  think  that  I  am  poor,  and  too  proud  to  accept  anything 
from  you.     Is  it  not  so?'* 

Louis  started  at  this  question.  How  could  he  reply  so  aa 
not  to  commit  himself? 

'*  I  am  not  rich,''  he  finally  said. 

"  I  am  delighted  to  hear  it,"  cried  Gaston.  "  I  wish  you 
were  as  poor  as  Job,  so  that  I  might  share  what  I  have  with 
you. " 

Dinner  over,  Gaston  rose  and  said: 

"  Come,  I  want  to  visit  with  you  my — ^that  is,  our  prop- 
erty.    You  must  see  everything  about  the  place." 

Louis  uneasily  followed  his  brother.  It  seemed  to  him  that 
Gaston  obstinately  shunned  anything  like  an  explanation. 

Could  all  this  brotherly  confidence  be  assumed  to  blind  him 
as  to  his  real  plans?  Why  did  Gaston  inquire  into  his  broth- 
er's past  and  future,  without  revealing  his  own?  Louis's 
suspicions  were  aroused,  and  he  regretted  his  over-hasty  seek- 
ing of  Gaston. 

But  his  calm,  smiling  face  betrayed  none  of  the  anxious 
thoughts  which  filled  his  mind. 

He  was  called  upon  to  praise  everything.  First  he  was 
taken  over  the  house  and  servants' quarters,  then  to  the  stable, 
kennels,  and  the  vast,  beautifully  laid-out  garden.  Across  the 
pretty  meadow  was  the  iron  foundry  in  full  operation.  Gas- 
ton, with  all  the  enthusiasm  of  a  new  proprietor,  explained 
everything  down  to  the  smallest  file  and  hammer. 

He  detailed  all  his  projects;  how  he  intended  substituting 
wood  for  coal,  and  how.  besides  having  plenty  to  work  the 
forge,  he  could  make  immense  profits  by  felling  the  forest 
trees,  which  had  hitherto  been  considered  impracticable.  Ho 
Ifould  cut  a  hundreJ  cords  of  wood  that  year. 


264  FILE  iro.  118L 

Louis  approved  of  everything;  but  only  ansi^rered  in  mono> 
syllables,     Ah,  indeed!  excellent  idea;  quite  a  success.'* 

His  mind  was  tortured  by  a  new  pain;  he  was  paying  no  at- 
tention to  Gaston's  remarks,  but  enviously  comparing  all  this 
wealth  and  prosperity  with  his  own  poverty. 

He  found  Gaston  rich,  respected  and  happy,  enjoying  the 
price  of  his  own  labor  and  industry;  whilst  ne —  Never  had 
he  so  cruelly  felt  the  misery  of  his  own  condition;  and  he  bad 
brought  it  on  himself,  which  only  made  it  more  aggravating. 

After  a  lapse  of  twenty-three  years,  all  the  envy  and  hat% 
he  had  felt  toward  Gaston,  when  they  were  boys  together,  re- 
vived. 

*'  What  do  you  think  of  my  purchase?^'  asked  Gaston,  when, 
the  inspection  was  over. 

"  I  think  you  possess,  my  dear  brother,  a  most  splendid 
piece  of  property,  and  on  the  loveliest  spot  in  the  world.  It 
IS  enough  to  excite  the  envy  of  any  poor  Farisian. " 

*'  Do  you  really  think  so?'* 

"  Certainly.  '* 

**  Then,  my  dear  Louis,"  said  Gaston,  Joyfully,  **  this  prop- 
erty is  yours,  as  well  as  mine.  You  like  this  lovely  Beam 
more  than  the  dusty  streets  of  Paris?  I  am  very  glad  that 
you  prefer  the  comforts  of  living  on  your  own  estate,  to  the 
glitter  and  show  of  city  life.  Everything  you  can  possibly 
want  is  here,  at  your  command.  And,  to  employ  our  time, 
there  is  the  foundry.     Does  my  plan  suit  you?** 

Louis  was  silent.  A  year  ago  this  proposal  would  have  been 
eagerly  welcomed.  How  gladly  he  would  have  seized  this  offer 
of  a  comfortable,  luxurious  home,  after  having  been  buffeted 
about  the  world  so  long!  How  delightful  it  would  have  been 
to  turn  over  a  new  leaf,  and  become  an  honest  man! 

But  he  saw  with  disappointment  and  rage  that  he  would 
now  be  compelled  to  decline  it. 

He  was  no  longer  free.     He  could  not  leave  Paris. 

He  had  become  entangled  in  one  of  those  hazardous  plot* 
which  are  fatal  if  neglected,  and  whose  failure  generally  leads 
the  projector  to  the  galleys. 

Alone,  he  could  easily  remain  where  he  was:  but  he  was 
trammeled  with  an  accomplice, 

"  You  do  not  answer  me,**  said  Gaston,  with  surprise; 
"  ere  there  any  obstacles  to  my  plans?** 

*'None.** 

"  What  is  the  matter  then?'* 

*'  The  matter  is,  my  dear  brother,  that  the  salary  of  an  office 
which  I  hold  in  Paris  is  all  that  I  have  to  support  me.  ** 


FILE  NO.   113.  ^6b 

"  Is  that  your  only  objection?  Yet  you  just  now  wanted  U 
pay  me  back  half  of  the  family  inheritance!  Louis,  that  it 
unkind;  you  are  not  acting  as  a  brother  should. '^ 

Louis  hung  his  head*  Gaston  was  unconsciously  telling  tha 
truth. 

*'  I  should  be  a  burden  to  you,  Gaston.'* 

"A  burden!  Why,  Louis,  you  must  be  mad!  Did  I  not 
tell  you  I  am  very  rich?  Do  you  suppose  that  you  have  seen 
all  I  possess?  This  house  and  the  iron-works  do  not  constitute 
a  fourth  of  my  fortune.  Do  you  think  that  I  would  have 
risked  my  twenty  years^  savings  in  an  experiment  of  this  sort? 
The  forge  may  be  a  failure;  and  then  what  would  become  of 
me,  if  I  had  nothing  else? 

"  I  have  invested  money  which  yields  me  an  income  of 
eighty  thousand  francs.  Besides,  my  grants  in  Brazil  have 
been  sold,  and  my  agent  has  already  deposited  four  hundred 
thousand  francs  to  my  credit  as  part  payment.*' 

Louis  trembled  with  pleasure.  He  was,  at  last,  to  know 
the  extent  of  the  danger  hanging  over  him.  Gaston  had 
finally  broached  the  subject  which  had  caused  him  so  much 
anxiety,  amd  he  determined  that  it  should  now  be  explained 
before  their  conversation  ended. 

*'  "Who  is  your  agent?'*  he  asked,  with  assumed  indiffer- 
ence. 

"  My  old  partner  at  Rio.  He  deposited  the  money  at  my 
Paris  banker's." 

"  Is  this  banker  a  friend  of  yours?" 

"  No;  I  never  heard  of  him  until  my  banker  at  Pau  recom- 
mended him  to  me  as  an  honest,  reliable  man;  he  is  im- 
mensely wealthy,  and  stands  at  the  head  of  the  financiers  in 
Paris.  His  name  is  Fauvel,  and  he  lives  on  the  Rue  de  Pro- 
vence." 

Although  prepared  for  hearing  almost  anything,  and  de- 
^termined  to  betray  no  agitation,  Louis  turned  deadly  pale. 

"  Do  you  know  this  banker?"  asked  Gaston. 

"  Only  by  reputation." 

*'  Then  we  caa  make  his  acquaintance  together;  for  I  in- 
tend accompanying  you  to  Paris,  when  you  return  there  to 
settle'  up  your  affairs  before  establishing  yourself  here  to  su- 
perintend the  forge." 

At  this  unexpected  announcement  of  a  step  which  would 
prove  his  utter  ruin,  Louis  was  stupefied.  In  answer  to  hii 
Brother's  questioning  look,  he  gasped  out: 

"  You  are  going  to  Paris?" 

**  Certainly  I  am.     Why  should  I  not  go?" 


266  FILE  NO.  113. 

**  There  is  no  reason  why." 

**  I  hate  Paris,  although  I  have  never  been  there.  But  I  ant 
called  there  by  interest,  by  sacred  duties/*  he  hesitatingly 
Baid.  *'  The  truth  is,  I  understand  that  Mademoifielle  de  la 
Verberie  lives  in  Paris,  and  I  wish  to  see  her.  ** 

**Ah!*' 

Gaston  was  silent  and  thoughtful  for  some  moments,  and 
then  said,  nervously: 

"I  will  tell  you,  Louis,  why  I  wish  to  see  her.  I  left  our 
family  jewels  in  her  charge,  aud  I  wish  to  recover  them.  *' 

"  Do  you  intend,  after  a  lapse  of  twenty-three  years,  to  claim 
these  jewelsF" 

"  Yes — or  rather  no.  I  only  make  the  jewels  an  excuse  for 
seeing  her.  I  must  see  her  because — because — she  is  the  only 
woman  I  ever  really  loved!*' 

*'  But  how  will  you  find  her?" 

**  Oh!  that  is  easy  enough.     Any  one  can  tell  me  the  name 
of  her  husband,  then  I   will  go   to  see  her.      Perhaps  the 
shortest  way  to  find  out  would  be  to  write  to  Beaucaire.     I 
will  do  so  to-morrow." 
'Louis  made  no  reply. 

Men  of  his  character,  when  brought  face  to  face  with  immi- 
nent danger,  always  weigh  their  words,  and  say  as  little  as 
possible,  for  fear  of  committing  themselves  by  some  indiscreet 
remark. 

Above  all  things  Louis  was  careful  to  avoid  raising  any  ob- 
jections to  his  brother's  proposed  trip  to  Paris.  To  oppose 
the  wishes  of  a  determined  man  has  the  effect  of  making  him 
adhere  more  closely  to  them.  Each  argument  is  like  striking 
a  nail  with  a  hammer.  Knowing  this,  Louis  changed  the 
conversation,  and  nothing  more  during  the  day  was  said  of 
Valentine  or  Paris. 

At  night,  alone  in  his  room,  he  brought  his  cunning  mind  to 
bear  upon  the  difficulties  of  his  situation,  and  wondered  by 
what  means  he  could  extricate  himself. 

At  first  the  case  seemed  hopeless,  desperate.  During  twenty 
years,  Louis  had  been  at  war  with  society,  trusted  by  none, 
living  upon  his  wits,  and  the  credulity  of  foolish  men  enabling 
him  to  gain  an  income  without  labor;  and,  though  he  generally 
attained  his  ends,  it  was  not  without  great  danger  and  constant 
dread  of  detection. 

He  had  been  caught  at  the  gaming-table  with  his  hands  full 
of  duplicate  cards;  he  had  been  tracked  all  over  Europe  by  the 
pohce,  and  obliged  to  fly  from  city  to  city  under  an  assumed 
name;    he  had  sold  to  cowards  his  skillful  handling  of  th9 


FILE    NO.    113.  267 

eword  and  pistol;  he  had  been  repeatedly  thrown  into  prison. 
and  always  made  his  escape.  He  had  braved  everything,  and 
feared  nothing.  He  had  often  conceived  and  carried  out  tha 
most  criminal  plans,  without  the  slightest  hesitation  or  re- 
morse. And  now  here  he  sat,  utterly  bewildered,  unable  to 
think  clearly;  his  usual  impudence  and  ready  cunning  seemed 
to  have  deserted  him. 

Thus  driven  to  the  wall,  he  saw  no  means  of  escape,  and 
was  almost  tempted  to  confess  all  and  throw  himself  upon  hia 
brother's  clemency.  Then  he  thought  that  it  would  be  wiser 
to  borrow  a  large  sum  of  money  from  Gaston  and  fly  the 
country. 

Vainly  did  he  think  over  the  wicked  experience  of  the  past* 
none  of  the  former  successful  stratagems  could  be  resorted  to 
in  the  present  case. 

Fatally,  inevitably,  he  was  about  to  be  caught  in  a  trap  laid 
by  himself. 

The  future  was  fraught  with  danger;  worse  than  danger — 
ruin  and  disgrace. 

He  had  to  fear  the  wrath  of  M.  Fauvel,  his  wife  and  niece. 
Gaston  would  have  speedy  vengeance  the  moment  he  discov- 
ered the  truth;  and  Raoul,  his  accomplice,  would  certainly 
turn  against  him  and  become  his  most  implacable  enemy. 

Was  there  no  possible  way  of  preventing  a  meeting  between 
Valentine  and  Gaston? 
None  that  he  could  think  of. 
Their  meeting  would  be  his  destruction. 
Lost  in  reflection,  he  paid  no  attention  to  the  flight  of  time. 
Day-break  still  found  him  sitting  at  the  window  with  his  face 
buried  in  his  hands,  trying  to  come  to  some  definite  conclusion 
what  he  should  say  and  do  to  keep  Gaston  away  from  Paris. 

"  It  is  in  vain  for  me  to  think,''  he  muttered.  "  The  more 
I  rack  my  brain,  the  more  confused  it  becomes.  There  is 
nothing  to  be  done  but  gain  time,  and  wait  for  an  opportu- 
nity." 

The  fall  of  the  horse  at  Clameran  was  what  Louis  called 
"  an  opportunity." 

He  closed  the  window,  and,  throwing  himself  upon  the  bed, 
was  soon  in  a  sound  sleep;  being  accustomed  to  danger,  it 
never  kept  him  awake. 

At  the  breakfast-table  his  calm,  smiling  face  bore  no  trace! 
of  a  wakeful,  anxious  night. 

He  was  in  a  gayer,  more  talkative  mood  than  usual,  and 
Ceid  he  would  like  to  ride  over  the  country,  and  visit  th« 


2G8  FILE    NO.    118. 

neighboring  towns.  Before  leaving  the  table,  he  had  planned 
several  excursions,  which  were  to  take  place  during  the  week. 

He  hoped  to  keep  Gaston  so  amused  and  occupied,  that  ha 
would  forget  all  about  going  to  Paris  in  search  of  Valentine. 

He  thought  that  with  time,  and  skillfully  jcut  objections,  he 
could  dissuade  his  brother  from  seeking  out  his  former  love. 
He  relied  upon  being  able  to  convince  him  that  this  absolutely 
unnecessary  interview  would  be  painful  to  both,  embarrassing 
to  him,  and  dangerous  to  her. 

As  to  the  jewels,  if  Gaston  persisted  in  claiming  them,  Louia 
could  safely  offer  to  go  and  get  them  for  him,  as  he  had  only 
to  redeem  them  from  the  pawnbroker. 

But  his  hopes  and  plans  were  soon  scattered  to  the  winds. 

"  You  know,*'  said  Gaston,  "  I  have  written.'' 

Louis  knew  well  enough  to  what  he  alluded,  but  pretended 
to  be  very  much  surprised,  and  said: 

*'  Written?     To  whom?     Where?     For  what?'' 

"  To  Beaucaire,  to  ask  Lafourcade  the  name  of  Valentine'* 
husband. " 

"  You  are  still  thinking  of  her?" 

*'  She  is  never  absent  from  my  thoughts." 

"  You  have  not  given  up  your  idea  of  going  to  see  her?" 

"  Of  course  not." 

*'  Alas,  Gaston!  you  forget  that  she  whom  you  once  loved  is 
now  the  wife  of  another,  and  possibly,  the  mother  of  a  large 
family.  How  do  you  know  that  she  will  consent  to  see  you? 
Why  run  the  risk  of  destroying  her  domestic  happiness,  and 
planting  seeds  of  remorse  in  your  own  bosom?" 

"  I  know  I  am  a  fool;  but  my  folly  is  dear  to  me,  and  I 
would  not  cure  it  if  I  could." 

The  quiet  determination  of  Gaston's  tone  convinced  Louia 
that  all  remonstrances  would  be  unavailing. 

Yet  he  remained  the  same  in  his  manner  and  behavior,  ap- 
parently engrossed  in  pleasure  parties,  but,  in  reality,  his  only 
thought  was  the  mail.  He  always  managed  to  be  at  the  door 
when  the  postman  came,  so  that  he  was  the  first  to  receive  hii 
brother's  letters. 

When  he  and  Gaston  were  out  together  at  the  time  of  the 
postman's  visit,  he  would  hurry  into  the  house  first,  so  as  to 
look  over  the  letters  which  were  always  laid  in  a  card-basket 
on  the  hall-table. 

His  watchful  ness  was  at  last  rewarded. 

The  following  Sunday,  among  the  letters  handed  to  him  by 
the  postman,  was  one  bearing  the  postmark  of  Beaucaire. 

H©  quickly  slipped  it  into  his  pocket;  and,  although  he  wag 


PILE  NO.  113.  269 

on  the  point  of  mounting  his  horse  to  ride  with  Gaston,  he  said 
that  he  must  run  up  to  his  room  to  get  something  he  had  for- 
gotten; this  was  to  gratify  his  impatient  desire  to  read  the  let' 
ter. 

He  tore  it  open,  and,  seeing  *'  Lafourcade  '*  signed  at  the 
bottom  of  three  closely  written  pages,  hastily  devoured  its  con- 
,  tents. 

After  reading  a  detailed  account  of  events  entirely  uninter- 
esting to  him,  Louis  came  to  the  following  passage  relating  to 
Valentine: 

"  Mademoiselle  de  la  Verberie's  husband  is  an  eminent 
banker  named  Andre  Fauvel.  I  have  not  the  honor  of  his 
acquaintance,  but  I  intend  going  to  see  him  shortly.  I  am 
anxious  to  submit  to  him  a  project  that  I  have  conceived  for 
the  benefit  of  this  part  of  the  country.  If  he  approves  of  it,  I 
shall  ask  him  to  invest  in  it,  as  his  name  will  be  of  great  assist- 
ance to  the  scheme.  I  suppose  you  have  no  objections  to  my 
referring  him  to  you,  should  he  ask  for  my  indorsers.** 

Louis  trembled  like  a  man  who  had  just  made  a  narrow 
escape  from  death.  He  well  knew  that  he  would  have  to  fly 
the  country  if  Gaston  received  this  letter. 

But  though  the  danger  was  warded  off  for  the  while,  it  might 
return  and  destroy  him  at  any  moment. 

Gaston  would  wait  a  week  for  an  answer,  then  he  would 
write  again;  Lafourcade  would  instantly  reply  to  express  sur- 
prise that  his  first  letter  had  not  been  received;  all  of  this  cor- 
respondence would  occupy  about  twelve  days.  In  these  twelve 
days  Louis  would  have  to  think  over  some  plan  for  preventing 
Lafourcade's  visit  to  Paris;  since,  the  instant  he  mentioned 
the  name  of  Clameran  to  the  banker,  everything  would  be  dis- 
covered. 

Louis's  meditations  were  interrupted  by  Gaston,  who  called 
from  the  lower  passage: 

*'  What  are  you  doing,  Louis?    I  am  waiting  for  you." 

**  I  am  coming  now,''  he  replied. 

Hastily  thrusting  Lafourcade's  letter  into  his  trunk,  Lonia 
ran  down  to  his  brother. 

He  had  made  up  his  mind  to  borrow  a  large  sum  from  Gas- 
ton, and  go  ofE  to  America;  and  Eaoul  might  get  out  of  the 
Bcrape  as  best  he  could. 

The  only  thing  which  now  disturbed  him  was  the  sudden 
failure  of  the  most  skillful  combination  he  had  ever  conceived; 
but  he  was  not  a  man  to  fight  against  destiny,  and  determine!? 


870  FILE  ifo.  113. 

to  make  the  best  of  the  emergency,  and  hope  for  better  fortune 
in  his  next  scheme. 

The  next  day  about  dusk,  while  walking  along  the  pretty 
road  leading  from  the  foundry  to  Oloron,  he  commenced  a  lit- 
tle story  which  was  to  conclude  by  asking  Gaston  to  lend  him 
two  hundred  thousand  francs. 

As  they  slowly  went,  arm  in  arm,  about  half  a  mile  from 
the  foundry  they  met  a  young  laborer,  who  bowed  as  he  passed 
them. 

Louis  dropped  his  brother's  arm,  and  started  back  as  if  ha 
had  seen  a  ghost. 

"  What  is  the  matter?"  asked  Gaston,  with  astonishment. 

"  Nothing,  except  I  struck  my  foot  against  a  stone,  and  it 
is  very  painful.  '* 

Gaston  might  have  known  by  the  tremulous  tones  of  Louis's 
voice  that  this  was  a  lie.  Louis  de  Clameran  had  reason  to 
tremble;  in  this  workman  he  recognized  Raoul  de  Lagors. 

Instinctive  fear  paralyzed  and  overwhelmed  him. 

The  story  he  had  planned  for  the  purpose  of  obtaining  the 
two  hundred  thousand  francs  was  forgotten;  his  volubility 
was  gone;  and  he  silently  walked  along  by  his  brother's  side, 
like  an  automaton,  totally  incapable  of  thinking  or  acting  for 
himself. 

He  seemed  to  listen,  he  did  listen;  but  the  words  fell  upon 
his  ear  unmeaningly;   he  could  not  understand  what  Gaston 
was  saying,  and  mechanically  answered  "  yes,"  or  *'  no,"  like 
one  in  a  dream. 

Whilst  necessity,  absolute  necessity,  kept  him  here  at  Gas- 
ton's side,  his  thoughts  were  all  with  the  young  man  who  had 
just  passed  by. 

What  had  brought  Raoul  to  Oloron?  What  plot  was  he 
hatching?  Why  was  he  disguised  as  a  laborer?  Why  had  he 
not  answered  the  many  letters  which  Louis  had  written  him 
from  Oloron?  He  had  ascribed  this  silence  to  Raoul's  care- 
lessness, but  now  he  saw  it  was  premeditated.  Something  dis- 
astrous must  have  happened  at  Paris;  and  Raoul,  afraid  to 
commit  himself  by  writing,  had  come  himself  to  bring  the  bad 
news.  Had  he  come  to  say  that  the  game  was  up,  and  they 
must  fly? 

But,  after  all,  perhaps  he  was  mistaken  in  supposing  this  to 
be  his  accomplice.  It  might  be  some  honest  workman  bearing 
a  strong  resemblance  to  Raoul. 

If  he  could  only  run  after  this  stranger,  and  speak  to  him  I 
But  no,  he  must  walk  on  up  to  the  house  with  Gaston,  quietly 
M  if  nothing  had  happened  to  arouse  his  anxiety^     He  felt  m 


PILE    NO.    113,  271 

a  he  wouM  go  mad  if  his  brother  did  not  move  faster;  th« 
uncertainty  was  becoming  intolerable. 

His  mind  filled  with  these  perplexing  thoughts,  Louis  at  last 
reached  the  house;  and  Gaston,  to  his  great  relief,  said  that 
he  was  so  tired  that  he  was  going  directly  to  bed. 

At  last  he  was  free! 

He  lighted  a  cigar,  and,  telling  the  servant  not  to  sit  up  for 
Mm,  went  out. 

He  knew  that  Eaoul,  if  it  was  Eaoul,  would  be  prowling 
near  the  house,  waiting  for  him. 

His  suspicions  were  well  founded. 

He  had  hardly  proceeded  thirty  yards,  when  a  man  sudden- 
ly sprung  from  behind  a  tree,  and  stood  before  him. 

The  night  was  clear,  and  Louis  recognized  Eaoul. 

"  What  is  the  matter?"  he  impatiently  demanded;  "  what 
has  happened?" 

**  Nothing.*' 

"  What!  Do  you  mean  to  say  that  nothing  has  gone  wrong 
in  Paris — that  no  one  is  on  our  track?'* 

'*  Not  the  slightest  danger  of  any  sort.  And,  moreover,  but 
for  your  inordinate  greed  of  gain,  everything  would  have  suc- 
''.eeded  admirably;  all  was  going  on  well  when  I  left  Paris.*' 

"Then  why  have  you  come  here?"  cried  Louis,  fiercely. 
**  Who  gave  you  permission  to  desert  your  post,  when  your 
absence  might  bring  ruin  upon  us?    What  brought  you  here?'* 

"  That  is  my  business,"  said  Eaoul,  with  cool  impertinence. 

Louis  seized  the  young  man's  wrists,  and  almost  crushed 
them  in  his  vise-like  grasp. 

"  Explain  this  strange  conduct  of  yours,**  he  said,  in  a  tone 
or  suppressed  rage.     "  What  do  you  mean  by  it?" 

Without  apparent  effort  Eaoul  released  his  hands  from 
their  imprisonment,  and  jeeringly  said: 

"  Hein  !  Gently,  my  friend!  I  don't  like  being  roughly 
treated;  and,  if  you  don't  know  how  to  behave  yourself,  I  have 
the  means  of  teaching  you.  *' 

At  the  same  time  he  drew  a  revolver  from  his  pocket. 

"  You  must  and  shall  explain  yourself,**  insisted  Louis;  **  if 
you  don't — " 

"  Well,  if  I  don't?  Now  you  might  just  as  well  spare  your- 
self the  trouble  of  trying  to  frighten  me.  I  intend  to  answer 
your  questions  when  I  choose;  but  it  certainly  won't  be  here, 
in  the  middle  of  the  road,  with  the  bright  moonlight  showing 
us  off  to  advantage.  How  do  you  know  people  are  not  watch- 
ing ur  this  very  minute!    Come  this  way,  ** 


273  FILE   NO.    113. 

They  strode  through  the  fields,  regardless  of  Gaston's  planti 
wliich  were  trampled  under  foot  in  order  to  take  a  short  cut. 

'*  Now/*  began  Eaoul,  when  they  were  at  a  safe  distance 
from  the  road,  *'  now,  my  dear  nncle,  I  will  tell  yoa  what 
brings  me  here.  I  have  received  and  carefully  read  your  let- 
ters. I  read  them  over  again.  You  wished  to  be  prudent; 
and  the  consequence  was  that  your  letters  were  unintelligible. 
Only  one  thing  did  I  understand  clearly;  we  are  in  danger.'* 

"  Only  the  more  reason  for  your  watchfulness  and  obedience.  ** 

*'  Very  well  put:  only,  before  braving  danger,  my  venerable 
and  beloved  uncle,  I  want  to  know  its  extent.  I  am  not  a 
man  to  retreat  in  the  hour  of  peril,  but  I  want  to  know  ex- 
actly how  much  risk  I  am  running." 

"  I  told  you  to  keep  quiet,  and  follow  my  directions." 

"  But  to  do  this  would  imply  that  I  have  perfect  confidence 
in  you,  my  dear  uncle,'*  said  Kaoul,  sneeringly, 

'*  And  why  should  you  not?  What  reasons  for  distrust  have 
you  after  all  that  I  have  done  for  you?  Who  went  to  London 
and  rescued  you  from  a  state  of  privation  and  ignominy?  I 
did.  Who  gave  you  a  name  and  position  when  you  had 
neither?  I  did.  And  who  is  working  now  to  maintain  your 
present  life  of  ease,  and  insure  you  a  pleasant  future?  I  am. 
And  how  do  you  repay  me?** 

*'  Superb,  magnificent,  inimitable!*'  said  Eaoul,  with  mock- 
ing admiration.  *'  But,  while  on  the  subject,  why  don*t  you 
prove  that  you  have  sacrificed  yourself  for  my  sake?  You  did 
not  need  me  as  a  tool  for  carrying  out  plans  for  your  own  ben- 
efit; did  you?  oh,  no,  not  at  all!  Dear,  kind,  generous,  disin- 
terested uncle!  You  ought  to  have  the  Montyon  prize;  I 
Ihink  I  must  recommend  you  as  the  most  deserving  person  I 
have  ever  met!" 

Clameran  was  so  angry  at  these  jeering  words  that  he  feared 
to  trust  himself  to  speak. 

*'  Kow,  my  good  uncle,"  continued  Eaoul,  more  seriously, 
*'  we  had  better  end  this  child's  play,  and  come  to  a  clear 
understanding.  I  follow  you  here,  because  I  thoroughly  under- 
stand your  character,  and  have  just  as  much  confidence  in  you 
as  you  deserve,  and  not  a  particle  more.  If  it  were  for  your 
advantage  to  ruin  me,  you  would  not  hesitate  one  instant.  If 
danger  threatened  us,  you  would  fly  alone,  and  leave  youi 
dutifid  nephew  to  make  his  escape  the  best  way  he  could.  Oh! 
don't  look  shocked,  and  pretend  to  deny  it;  your  conduct  ia 
perfectly  natural,  and  in  your  place  I  would  act  the  same  way. 
Only  remember  this,  that  I  am  not  a  man  to  be  trified  with. 


FtiiE  NO.  113.  373 

Now  let  us  cease  these  unnecessary  recriminations,  and  comi 
to  the  point;  what  is  your  present  plan?" 

Louis  saw  that  his  accomplice  was  too  shrewd  to  be  deceived, 
and  that  the  safest  course  was  to  trust  ail  to  him,  and  to  pre= 
tend  that  he  had  intended  doing  so  all  along. 

Without  any  show  of  anger,  he  briefly  and  clearly  related  all 
that  had  occurred  at  his  brother's. 

He  was  told  the  truth  about  everything  except  the  amount 
of  his  brother's  fortune,  the  importance  of  which  he  lessened 
as  much  as  possible. 

"  "Well,"  said  Kaoul,  when  the  report  was  ended,  "  we  are 
in  a  nice  fix.     And  do  you  expect  to  get  out  of  it?" 

"  Yes,  if  you  don't  betray  me." 

"  I  wish  you  to  understand,  marquis,  that  I  have  never  be- 
trayed any  one  yet;  don't  judge  me  by  yourself,  I  beg.  What 
eteps  will  you  take  to  get  free  of  this  entanglement?" 

*'  I  don't  know  yet;  but  something  will  turn  up.  Oh,  don't 
be  alarmed;  I'll  find  some  means  of  escape;  so  you  can  return 
home  with  your  mind  at  rest.  '  You  run  no  risk  in  Paris,  and 
'tis  the  best  place  for  you.    I  will  stay  here  to  watch  Gaston. " 

Eaoul  reflected  for  some  moments,  and  then  said: 

*'  Are  you  sure  I  am  not  in  danger  at  Paris?" 

"  What  are  you  afraid  of?  We  have  Madame  Fauvel  so 
completely  in  our  power  that  she  would  not  dare  speak  a  word 
against  you;  even  if  she  knew  the  whole  truth,  what  no  one 
but  you  and  1  know,  she  would  not  open  her  lips,  but  be  only 
too  glad  to  hush  up  matters  so  as  to  escape  punishment  for  her 
fault  from  her  deceived  husband  and  a  censuring  world." 

"  I  know  we  have  a  secure  hold  on  her,"  said  Eaoul.  "  I 
nxxi  not  afraid  of  her  giving  any  trouble.'* 

"  Who,  then?" 

"  An  enemy  of  your  own  making,  my  respected  uncle;  a 
most  implacable  enemy — Madeleine." 

"  Fiddlesticks!"  replied  Clameran,  disdainfully. 

"  It  is  very  well  for  you  to  treat  her  with  contempt,"  said 
Eaoul,  gravely;  "  but  I  can  tell  you,  you  are  much  mistaken 
in  your  estimate  of  her  character.  I  have  studied  her  lately, 
and  see  that  she  is  devoted  to  her  aunt,  and  ready  to  make 
any  sacrifice  to  insure  her  happiness.  But  she  has  no  idea  of 
doing  anythmg  blindly,  or  throwing  herself  away  if  she  can 
avoid  it.  She  has  promised  to  marry  you.  Prosper  is  broken- 
hearted at  being  discarded,  it  is  true;  but  he  has  not  given  up 
hope.  You  imagine  her  to  be  weak  and  yielding,  easily  fright- 
ened? It's  a  great  mistake.  She  is  self-reliant  and  fearless. 
Mqvq  than  tliat,  she  u  in  love,  m/  £Do5  uncle;  and  a  woman 


•  274  FILE    KO.     113. 

will  defend  her  lover  as  a  tigress  defends  lier  young.     She  will 
fight  to  the  bitter  end  before  marrying  any  one  save  Prosper. " 
~"  She  is  worth  five  hundred  thousand  francs.*^ 

"  So  she  is;  and  at  five  per  cent.,  we  would  each  have  an  in- 
come of  twelve  thousand  five  hundred  francs.  But,  for  all 
that,  yoH  had  better  take  my  advice,  and  give  up  Madeleine." 

"  Never,  I  swear  by  Heaven!"  exclaimed  Clameran.  "  Rich 
or  poor,  she  shall  be  mine!  I  first  wanted  her  money,  but  now 
I  want  her;  I  love  her  for  herself,  Raoul.'* 

Eaoul  seemed  to  be  amazed  at  this  declaration  of  his  uncle. 

He  raised  his  hands  and  started  back  with  astonishment. 

"  Is  it  possible,**  he  said,  *'  that  you  are  in  love  with  Made- 
leine— ^your'* 

"  Yes,"  replied  Louis,  sullenly.  *'  Is  there  anything  so  very 
extraordinary  in  it?" 

"*  Oh,  no,  certainly  not!  only  this  sentimental  view  of  the 
matter  explains  your  strange  behavior.  Alas,  you  love  Made-' 
Jeine!  Then,  my  venerable  uncle,  we  might  as  well  surrender 
at  onoe. " 

"Why  so?*' 

"  Because  you  know  the  axiom,  *  When  the  heart  is  inter- 
ested the  head  is  lost.*  Generals  in  love  always  lose  their  bat- 
tles. The  day  is  not  far  off  when  your  infatuation  for  Made- 
leine will  make  you  sell  us  both  for  a  smile.  And,  mark  my 
words,  she  is  shrewd,  and  watching  us  as  only  an  enemy  can 
watch.  ** 

With  a  forced  laugh  Clameran  interrupted  his  nephew. 

"  Just  see  how  you  fire  up  for  no  cause,*'  he  said;  **you 
must  dislike  the  charming  Madeleine  very  much,  if  you  abuse 
her  in  this  way.  '* 

"  She  will  prove  to  be  our  ruin;  that  is  all.** 

"  You  might  as  well  be  frank,  and  say  you  are  in  love  with 
her  yourself.** 

"  I  am  only  in  love  with  her  money,**  replied  Raoul,  with 
an  angry  frown. 

"  Then  what  are  you  complaining  of?  I  shall  give  you  half 
her  fortune.  You  will  have  the  money  without  being  troubled 
with  the  wife;  the  profit  without  the  burden.** 

*' I  am  not  over  fifty  years  old,**  said  Raoul,  conceitedly. 
**  I  can  appreciate  a  pretty  woman  better  than  you.** 

"  Enough  of  that,**  interrupted  Louis,  angrily.  **  The  day 
I  relieved  your  pressing  wants,  and  brought  you  to  Paris,  you 
promised  to  follow  my  directions,  to  help  me  carry  out  my 
plan;  did  you  not?** 

*'  Yes;  but  not  the  plot  you  are  hatching  now!    You  forget 


FILE   NO.   113.  275 

that  my  liberty,  perhaps  my  life,  is  at  stake.  You  may  hoH 
the  cards,  but  I  must  have  the  right  of  advising  you." 

It  was  midnight  before  the  accomplices  separated. 

*'  It  won^tdo  to  stand  idle,"  said  Louis.  "  I  agree  with  you 
that  something  must  be  done  at  once.  But  I  can't  decide 
what  it  shall  be  on  the  spur  of  the  moment.  Meet  me  here  at 
this  hour,  to-morrow  night,  and  I  will  have  some  plan  ready 
for  you.'' 

*'  Very  good.     I  will  be  here. " 

"  And  remember,  don't  be  imprudent!" 

"  My  costume  ought  to  convince  you  that  I  am  not  anxious 
to  be  recognized  by  any  one.  I  left  such  an  ingenious  alihi, 
that  I  defy  anybody  to  prove  that  I  have  been  absent  from  my 
house  at  Vesinet.  I  even  took  the  precaution  to  travel  in  a 
third-class  car.     Well,  good-night.     I  am  going  to  the  inn." 

Raoul  went  off  after  these  words,  apparently  unconscious  ol 
having  aroused  suspicion  in  the  breast  of  his  accomplice. 

During  his  adventurous  life,  Clameran  had  transacted 
*'  business  "  with  too  many  scamps  not  to  know  the  precise 
amount  of  confidence  to  place  in  a  man  like  Eaoul. 

The  old  adage,  "  Honor  among  thieves,"  seldom  holds  good 
after  the  "  stroke."  There  is  always  a  quarrel  over  the  divis- 
ion of  the  spoils. 

This  distrustful  Clameran  foresaw  a  thousand  difficulties 
and  counter-plots  to  be  guarded  against  in  his  dealings  with 
Eaoul. 

"Why,"  he  pondered,  "did  the  villain  assume  this  dis- 
guise? Why  this  alibi  at  Paris?  Can  he  be  laying  a  trap  for 
me?  It  is  true  that  I  have  a  hold  upon  him;  but  then  I  am 
completely  at  his  mercy.  Those  accursed  letters  which  I  have 
written  to  him,  while  here,  are  so  many  proofs  against  me. 
Can  he  be  thinking  of  cutting  loose  from  me,  and  making  oflF 
with  all  the  profits  of  our  enterprise?" 

Louis  never  once  during  the  night  closed  his  eyes;  but  by 
day-break  he  had  fully  made  up  his  mind  how  to  act,  and  with 
feverish  impatience  waited  for  evening  to  come,  to  communi- 
cate his  views  to  Eaoul. 

His  anxiety  made  him  so  restless  that  the  unobserving  Gas- 
ton finally  noticed  it,  and  asked  him  what  the  matter  was:  if 
he  was  sick  or  troubled  about  anything. 

At  last  evening  came,  and,  at  the  appointed  hour,  Louis 
went  to  the  field  where  they  had  met  the  night  previous,  and 
found  Eaoul  lying  on  the  grass  smoking  a  fragrant  cigar,  as  if 
he  had  no  other  object  in  life  except  to  blow  little  clouds  of 


376  FlZB  NO.   113. 

Biuoke  in  the  air,  and  count  the  stars  in  the  clear  sky  above 
him. 

"  Well/'  he  carelessly  said,  as  Louis  approached,  "  have 
you  decided  upon  anything?" 

**  Yes,  I  have  two  projects,  either  of  which  would  probably 
accomplish  our  object. " 

"  I  am  listening.*' 

Louis  was  silently  thoughtful  for  a  minute,  as  if  arranging 
his  thoughts  so  as  to  present  them  as  clearly  and  briefly  aa 
possible. 

"  My  first  plan,"  he  began,  "  depends  upon  your  approval. 
What  would  you  say  if  I  proposed  to  you  to  renounce  the 
affair  altogether?'* 

"  What!" 

"  Would  you  consent  to  disappear,  leave  France,  and  re- 
turn to  London,  if  I  paid  you  a  good  round  sum?*' 

*'  What  do  you  call  a  good  round  sum?" 

"  I  will  give  you  a  hundred  and  fifty  thousand  francs." 

*'  My  respected  uncle,"  said  Kaoul,  with  a  contemptuous 
shrug,  "  I  am  distressed  to  see  how  little  you  know  me!  You 
try  to  deceive  me,  to  outwit  me,  which  is  ungenerous  and  fool- 
ish on  your  part — ungenerous,  because  it  fails  to  carry  out  our 
agreement;  foolish,  because,  as  you  know  well  enough,  my 
power  equals  yours. " 

"  I  don't  understand  you." 

'*  I  am  sorry  for  it.  I  understand  myself,  and  that  is  suffi- 
cient. Oh!  I  understand  you,  my  dear  uncle.  I  have  watched 
you  with  careful  eyes,  which  are  not  to  be  deceived;  I  see 
through  you  clearly.  If  you  offer  me  one  hundred  and  fifty 
liiousand  francs,  it  is  because  you  intend  to  walk  off  with  a 
million  for  yourself. " 

*'  You  are  talking  like  a  fool,"  said  Clameran,  with  virtu- 
ous indignation. 

"  Not  at  all;  I  only  judge  the  future  by  the  past.  Of  all 
the  large  sums  extorted  from  Madame  Fauvel,  often  against 
my  wishes,  I  never  received  a  tenth  part." 

"  But  you  know  we  have  a  reserve  fund." 

"  All  very  good;  but  you  have  the  keeping  of  it,  my  good 
uncle.  It  is  very  nice  for  you,  but  not  so  funny  for  me.  If 
our  little  plot  were  to  be  discovered  to-morrow,  you  would 
walk  off  with  the  money-box,  and  leave  your  devoted  nephew 
to  be  sent  to  prison. " 

"  Ingrate!"  muttered  Louis,  as  if  distressed  at  these  unde- 
Oftrved  reproaches  of  his  protege. 

**  You  have  hit  on  the  very  word  I  was  trying  to  remenf*" 


FILE    NO.    113.  277 

ber/' cried  Raoul:  "  *  ingrate  *  is  the  name  that  Just  suiti 
you.  But  we  have  not  time  for  this  nonsense.  I  will  end 
the  matter  by  proving  how  yon  have  been  trying  to  deceive 
me." 

"  I  would  like  to  hear  you  do  so  if  you  can." 

"  Very  good.  In  the  first  place,  you  told'  me  that  your 
brother  only  possessed  a  modest  competency.  Now,  1  learn 
that  Gaston  has  an  income  of  at  least  sixty  thousand  francs. 
It  is  useless  for  you  to  deny  it;  and  how  much  is  his  property 
worth?  A  hundred  thousand  crowns.  He  has  four  hundred 
thousand  francs  deposited  in  Monsieur  Fauvel's  bank.  Total: 
seven  hundred  thousand  francs.  And,  besides  all  this,  the 
broker  in  Oloron  has  orders  to  buy  up  a  large  amount  ol 
stocks  and  railroad  shares,  which  will  require  large  cash  pay- 
ments. I  have  not  wasted  my  day,  you  see,  and  have  ob- 
tained all  the  information  I  came  for.'* 

EaouFs  information  was  too  concise  and  exact  for  Louis  to 
deny  it. 

"  You  might  have  sense  enough,"  Eaoul  went  on,  *'  to 
know  how  to  manage  your  forces  if  you  undertake  to  be  a 
commander.  We  had  a  splendid  game  in  our  hands;  and 
you,  who  held  the  cards,  have  made  a  perfect  muddle  of  it.  '* 

"  I  think—" 

*'  That  the  game  is  lost?  That  is  my  opinion  too,  and  all 
through  you.     You  have  no  one  to  blame  but  yourself.  '* 

"  1  could  not  control  events.'* 

"  Yes,  you  could,  if  you  had  been  shrewd.  Fools  sit  down 
and  wait  for  an  opportunity:  sensible  men  make  one.  What 
did  we  agree  upon  in  London?  We  were  to  implore  my  good 
mother  to  assist  us  a  little,  and,  if  she  complied  with  our 
wishes,  we  were  to  be  flattering  and  affectionate  in  our  devo- 
tion to  her.  And  what  was  the  result?  At  the  risk  of  killing 
the  golden  goose,  you  have  made  me  torment  the  poor  woman 
until  she  is  almost  crazy." 

"  It  was  prudent  to  hasten  matters.'" 

*'  You  think  so,  do  you?  Was  it  also  to  hasten  matters 
that  you  took  it  into  your  head  to  marry  Madeleine?  That 
made  it  necessary  to  let  her  into  the  secret;  and,  ever  since, 
she  has  advised  and  set  her  aunt  against  us.  I  would  not  be 
surprised  if  she  makes  her  confess  everything  to  Monsieur 
Fauvel,  or  even  inform  against  us  at  the  police-oflBce. " 

"  I  love  Madeleine  I" 

*'  You  told  me  that  before.  And  suppose  you  do  love  her. 
You  led  me  into  this  piece  of  business  without  having  studied 
its  "«^»riou8  bearings,  without  knowing  what  you  were  about 


278  PILE  NO.  113. 

No  one  but  an  idiot,  my  beloved  uncle,  would  go  and  put  luf 
foot  into  a  trap,  and  then  say,  *  If  I  had  only  known  about  it!' 
You  should  have  made  it  your  business  to  know  everything. 
You  came  to  me,  and  said,  '  Your  father  is  dead,*  which  waa 
a  lie  to  start  with;  perhaps  you  call  it  a  mistake.  He  is  liv- 
ing; and,  after  what  we  nave  done,  I  dare  not  appear  before 
fiim.  He  would  have  left  me  a  million,  and  now  I  shall  not 
get  a  sou.     He  will  find  Ms  Valentine,  and  then  good-bye.*' 

"Enough!"  angrily  interrupted  Louis.  "  If  I  have  made 
a  mistake,  I  know  how  to  redeem  it.  I  can  save  everything 
yet.** 

**  You  can?    How  so?*' 

"  That  is  my  secret,**  said  Louis,  gloomily. 

Louis  and  Raoul  were  silent  for  a  minute.  And  this  silence 
between  them,  in  this  lonely  spot,  at  dead  of  night,  was  so 
horribly  significant  that  both  of  them  shuddered. 

An  abominable  thought  had  flashed  across  their  evil  minds, 
and  without  a  word  or  look  they  understood  each  other. 

Louis  broke  the  ominous  silence  by  abruptly  saying: 

"  Then  you  refuse  to  disappear  if  I  pay  you  a  hundred  and 
fifty  thousand  francs?  Think  it  over  before  deciding;  it  is 
not  too  late  yet.** 

"  I  have  fully  thought  it  over.  I  know  you  will  not  at- 
tempt to  deceive  me  any  more.  Between  certain  ease,  and  the 
probability  of  an  immense  fortune,  I  choose  the  latter  at  all 
risks.  I  will  share  your  success  or  your  failure.  We  will 
swim  or  sink  together.** 

"  And  you  will  follow  my  instructions?*' 

"Blindly.** 

Raoul  must  have  been  very  certain  of  Louis's  intention  of 
resorting  to  the  most  dangerous  extremities,  and  must  have 
known  exactly  what  he  intended  to  do;  for  he  did  not  ask 
him  a  single  question.  Perhaps  he  dared  not.  Perhaps  he 
preferred  doubt  to  shocking  certainty,  as  if  he  could  thus  es- 
cape the  remorse  attendant  upon  criminal  complicity. 

In  the  first  place,'*  said  Louis,  "  you  must  at  once  return 
to  Paris.** 

"  I  will  be  there  in  forty-eight  hours.'* 

"You  must  be  very  intimate  at  Madame  Fauvel*s,  and 
keep  me  informed  of  everything  that  takes  place  in  the  fam- 
ily. ' 

"  I  understand." 

Louis  laid  his  hand  upon  Haoul's  shoulder,  as  if  to  impress 
Bpon  his  mind  what  he  was  to  say. 

"  You  have  a  sure  means  of  being  restored  to  your  mother's 


TILE   KO.   115.  S79 

confidence  and  affection,  by  blaming  me  for  everything  that 
has  happened  to  distress  her.  Abuse  me  constantly.  Tho 
more  odious  you  render  me  in  her  eyes  and  those  of  Madeleine, 
the  better  you  will  serve  me.  Nothing  would  please  me  more 
than  to  be  denied  admittance  to  the  house  when  I  return  to 
Paris.  You  must  say  that  you  have  quarreled  with  me,  and 
that,  if  I  still  come  to  see  you,  it  is  because  you  can  not  pre- 
vent it,  and  you  will  never  voluntarily  have  any  intercourse 
with  me.     That  is  the  scheme:  you  can  develop  it.^' 

Eaoul  listened  to  these  strange  instructions  with  astonish- 
ment. 

"  What!'*  he  cried:  "you  adore  Madeleine,  and  take  this 
means  of  showing  it?    An  odd  way  of  carrying  on  a  court- 
ship, I  must  confess.     I  will  be  sliot  if  I  can  comprehend.*' 
"  Tliere  is  no  necessity  of  your  comprehending.'* 
"  All  right,"  said  Raoul,  submissively;  "  if  you  say  so.** 
Then  Louis  reflected  that  no  one  could  properly  execute  a 
commission  without  having  at  least  an  idea  of  its  nature. 

'*  Did  you  ever  hear,"  he  asked  Eaoul,  "  of  the  man  who 
burned  down  his  lady-love's  house  so  as  to  have  the  bliss  of 
carrying  her  out  in  his  arms?'* 
"Yes:  what  of  it?" 

"  At  the  proper  time^  I  will  charge  you  to  set  fire,  morally, 
to  Madame  Fauvel's  house;  and  I  will  rush  in,  and  save  her 
and  her  niece.  Now,  in  the  eyes  of  those  women  my  conduct 
will  appear  more  magnanimous  and  noble  in  proportion  to 
the  contempt  and  abuse  they  have  heaped  upon  me.  I  gain 
nothing  by  patient  devotion:  I  have  everything  to  hope  from 
a  sudden  change  of  tactics.  A  well-managed  stroke  will  trans- 
form a  demon  into  an  angel.  ** 

*'  Very  well,  a  good  idea!**  said  Eaoul,  approvingly,  when 
his  uncle  had  finished. 

*'  Then  you  understand  what  is  to  be  done?*' 
**  Yes,  but  you  will  write  to  me?** 

**  Of  course;  and  if  anything  should  happen  at  Paris — *' 
**  I  will  telegraph  to  you.** 
"  And  never  lose  sight  of  my  rival,  the  cashier.  ** 
"  Prosper?  not  much  danger  of  our  being  troubled  by  him, 
poor  boy!    He  is  just  now  my  devoted  friend.     Trouble  has 
driven  him  into  a  path  of  life  which  will  soon  prove  his  de- 
struction.    Every  now  and  then  I  pity  him  from  the  bottom 
of  my  soul.** 

**  Pity  him  as  much  as  you  like;  but  don*t  interfere  with 
M&  dissipation.*' 


280  PILE   NO.    118. 

The  two  men  shook  hands,  and  separated  apparently  the 
best  friends  in  the  world;  in  reality  the  bitterest  enemies. 

Baoul  would  not  forgive  Louis  for  having  attempted  to  ap- 
propriate all  the  booty,  and  leave  him  in  the  lurch,  when  it 
was  he  who  had  risked  the  greatest  dangers. 

Louis,  on  his  part,  was  alarmed  at  the  attitude  taken  by 
Kaoul.  Thus  far  he  had  found  his  "nephew  tractable,  and 
even  blindly  obedient;  and  now  he  had  suddenly  become  re- 
bellious and  threatening.  Instead  of  ordering  Baoul,  he  wag 
forced  to  consult  and  bargain  with  him.    . 

What  could  be  more  wounding  to  his  vanity  and  self-con- 
ceit than  the  reproaches,  well  founded  though  they  were,  to 
which  he  had  been  obliged  to  listen,  from  a  mere  youth? 

As  he  walked  back  to  his  brother's  house,  thinking  over 
what  had  just  occurred,  Louis  swore  that  sooner  or  later  he 
would  be  revenged,  and  that,  as  soon  as  he  could  ^et  rid  of 
Eaoul  he  would  do  so,  and  would  do  him  some  great  injury. 

But,  for  the  present,  he  was  so  afraid  lest  the  young  villain 
should  betray  him,  or  thwart  his  plans  in  some  way,  that  he 
wrote  to  him  the  next  day,  and  every  succeeding  day,  full 
particulars  of  everything  that  happened.  Seeing  how  im- 
portant it  was  to  restore  his  shaken  confidence,  Louis  entered 
mto  the  most  minute  details  of  his  plans,  and  asked  Eaoul's 
advice  about  every  step  he  took. 

The  situation  remained  the  same.  The  dark  cloud  re- 
mained threateningly  near,  but  grew  no  larger. 

Gaston  seemed  to  have  forgotten  that  he  had  written  to 
Beaucaire,  and  never  mentioned  Valentine's  name  once. 

Like  all  men  accustomed  to  a  busy  life,  Gaston  was  miser- 
aOle  except,  when  occupied,  and  spent  his  whole  time  m  the 
foundry,  which  seemed  to  absorb  him  entirely. 

When  he  began  the  experiment  of  felling  the  woods,  his 
losses  had  been  heavy:  but  he  determined  to  continue  the 
work  until  it  should  be  equally  beneficial  to  himself  and  the 
neighboring  land-owners. 

He  engaged  the  services  of  an  intelligent  engineer,  and, 
thanks  to  untiring  energy  and  the  new  improvement  in 
Baachinery,  his  profits  soon  more  than  equaled  his  expenses. 

"No\r  that  we  are  doing  so  well,"  said  Gaston,  joyously, 
"  we  shall  certainly  make  twenty-five  thousand  francs  nexi" 
jrear." 

!Next  yearl    Alas,  poor  Gaston! 

Five  days  after  Eaoul's  departure,  one  Saturday  afternoon 
Gaston  was  suddenly  taken  ilL 


PILE  :ho.  113.  281 

He  had  a  sort  of  vertigo,  and  was  so  dizay  tkat  he  wtn 
forced  to  lie  down. 

"I  know  what  is  the  matter/*  he  said.  "I  have  often 
been  ill  in  this  way  at  Rio.  A  couple  of  hours*  sleep  will 
cure  me.  I  will  go  to  bed,  and  you  can  send  £Ome  one  to 
awaken  me  when  dinner  is  ready,  Louis;  X  shall  be  all  right 
by  that  time." 

But  when  the  servant  came  to  announce  dinner,  he  found 
Gaston  much  worse.  He  had  a  violent  headache,  a  choking 
sensation  in  his  throat,  and  dimness  of  vision.  But  his  worst 
symptom  was  dysphonia:  he  would  try  to  articulate  one  word, 
and  find  himself  using  another.  His  jaw-bones  became  so  stifl 
that  it  was  with  the  greatest  difficulty  that  he  opened  hia 
mouth. 

Louis  came  up  to  his  brother's  room,  and  urged  him  to 
send  for  the  physician. 

"  No,"  said  Gaston,  "  I  won't  have  any  doctor  to  make  me 
ill  with  all  sorts  of  medicines;  I  know  what  is  the  matter  with 
me,  and  my  indisposition  will  be  cured  by  a  simple  remedy 
which  I  have  always  used. " 

At  the  same  time  he  ordered  Manuel,  his  old  Spanish  serv- 
ant, who  had  lived  with  him  for  ten  years,  to  prepare  him 
some  lemonade. 

The  next  day  Gaston  appeared  to  be  much  better.  He  eat 
his  breakfast,  and  was  about  to  take  a  walk,  when  the  pains 
of  the  previous  day  suddenly  returned,  in  a  more  violent 
form. 

AV^ithout  consulting  his  brother,  Louis  sent  to  Oloron  for 

Dr.  C -,  whose  wonderful  cures  at  Eaux  Bonnes  had  won 

him  a  wide  reputation. 

The  doctor  declared  that  there  was  no  danger,  and  merely 
prescribed  a  dose  of  valerian,  and  a  blister  with  some  grains 
of  morphine  sprinkled  on  it. 

But  in  the  middle  of  the  night,  all  the  symptoms  suddenly 
changed  for  the  worse.  The  pain  in  the  head  was  succeeded 
by  a  fearful  oppression,  and  the  sick  man  suffered  torture  in 
trying  to  get  his  breath;  daybreak  found  him  still  tossing 
restlessly  from  pillow  to  pillow. 

When  Dr.  C came  early  in  the  morning,  he  appeared 

very  much  surprised  at  this  change  for  the  worse.     He  in- 
quired if  they  had  not  administered  an  overdose  of  morphine 
Manuel  said  that  he  had  put  the  blister  on  his  master,  and  the 
doctor's  directions  had  been  accurate!/  followed. 

The  doctor,  after  having  examined  Gaston,  and  found  hi| 
breathing  heavy  and  irregular,  prescribed  a  heavy  dose  of 


283  PlLB  KO.  115. 

Bulphate  of  quinine*  he  then  retired;  saying  he  would  return 
the  ne^t  day. 

As  soon  as  the  doctor  had  gone,  Gaston  sent  for  a  friend  oi 
his,  a  lavvyer,  to  come  to  him  as  soon  as  possible. 

"For  Heaven^s  sake,  what  do  you  want  with  a  lawyer?** 
inquired  Louis. 

I  want  his  advice,  brother.  It  is  useless  to  try  and  deceive 
ourselves;  I  know  I  am  extremely  ill.  Only  timid  fools  ara 
superstitious  about  making  their  wills;  if  I  defer  it  any 
longer,  1  may  be  suddenly  taken  without  having  arranged  my 
affairs.  I  would  rather  have  the  lawyer  at  once,  and  then  my 
mind  would  be  at  rest." 

Gaston  did  not  think  he  was  about  to  die;  but,  knowing  the 
uncertainty  of  life,  determined  to  be  prepared  for  the  worst; 
he  had  too  often  imperiled  his  life,  and  been  face  to  face  with 
death,  to  feel  any  fear  now. 

He  had  made  his  will  while  ill  at  Bordeaux;  but,  now  that 
he  had  found  Louis,  he  wished  to  leave  him  all  his  property, 
and  sent  for  his  business  man  to  advise  as  to  the  best  means  of 
disposing  of  his  wealth  for  his  benefit. 

The  lawyer  was  a  shrewd,  wiry  little  man,  very  popular  be- 
cause he  had  a  faculty  for  always  gaining  suits  which  other 
attorneys  had  lost,  or  declined  to  try,  because  of  their  ground- 
lessness. Being  perfectly  familiar  with  all  the  intricacies  of 
the  law,  nothing  delighted  him  more  than  to  succeed  in  elud- 
ing some  stringent  article  of  the  code:  and  often  he  sacrificed 
large  fees  for  the  sake  of  outwitting  his  opponent,  and  con- 
troverting the  justness  of  a  decision. 

Once  aware  of  his  client's  wishes  and  intentions,  he  had 
but  one  idea;  and  that  was,  to  carry  them  out  as  inexpen- 
sively as  possible,  by  skillfully  evading  the  heavy  costs  to  be 
paid  by  the  inheritor  of  an  estate. 

He  explained  to  Gaston  that  he  could,  by  an  act  of  part- 
nership, associate  Louis  in  his  business  enterprises,  by  sign- 
ing an  acknowledgment  that  half  the  money  invested  in  these 
various  concerns  belonged  to  and  had  been  advanced  by  his 
brother;  so  that,  in  the  event  of  Gaston's  death,  Louis  would 
only  have  to  pay  taxes  on  half  the  fortune. 

Gaston  eagerly  took  advantage  of  this  fiction;  not  that  he 
thought  of  the  money  saved  by  the  transaction  if  he  died,  but 
this  would  be  a  favorable  opportunity  for  sharing  his  riches 
with  Louis,  without  wounding  his  delicate  sensibility. 

A  deed  of  partnership  between  Gaston  and  Louis  de  Clam- 
eran,  for  the  working  of  a  cast-iron  mill  was  drawn  up;  this 
ieed  acknowledged  Louis  to  have  invested  five  hundred  thou- 


FILE    NO.    113.  28& 

sand  francs  as  his  share  of  the  capital ;  therefore  half  of  the 
iron-works  was  his  in  his  own  right. 

When  Louis  was  called  in  to  sign  the  paper,  he  violently 
opposed  his  brother's  project. 

"  Why  do  you  distress  me  by  making  these  preparations  for 
death,  merely  because  you  are  suffering  from  a  slight  indisposi- 
tion? Do  you  think  that  I  would  consent  to  accept  your 
wealth  during  your  lifetime?  If  you  die  I  am  your  heir;  if 
you  live,  I  enjoy  your  property  as  if  it  were  my  own.  What 
more  can  you  wish?  Pray  do  not  draw  up  any  papers;  let 
things  remain  as  they  are,  and  turn  all  your  attention  to  get- 
ting well." 

Vain  remonstrances!  Gaston  was  not  a  man  to  be  persuad- 
ed from  accomplishing  a  purpose  upon  which  he  had  fully  set 
his  heart.  When,  after  mature  deliberation,  he  made  a  reso- 
lution, he  always  carried  it  out  in  spite  of  all  opposition. 

After  a  long  and  heroic  resistance,  which  betrayed  great 
nobleness  of  character  and  rare  disinterestedness,  Louis, 
ui^ed  by  the  physician,  finally  yielded,  and  signed  his  name 
to  the  papers  drawn  up  by  the  lawyer. 

It  was  done.  Now  he  was  legally  Gaston's  partner,  and 
possessor  of  half  his  fortune.  No  court  of  law  could  deprive 
him  of  what  he  had  been  deeded  with  all  the  legal  formalities, 
even  if  his  brother  should  change  his  mind  and  try  to  get 
back  his  property. 

The  strangest  sensations  now  filled  Louis's  breast. 

He  was  in  a  state  of  delirious  excitement  often  felt  by  per- 
sons suddenly  raised  from  poverty  to  affluence. 

Whether  Gaston  lived  or  died,  Louis  was  the  lawful  pos- 
sessor of  an  income  of  twenty-five  thousand  francs,  without 
counting  the  eventual  profits  of  the  iron  works. 

At  no  time  in  his  life  had  he  hoped  for  or  dreamed  of  such 
wealth.  His  wildest  wishes  were  surpassed.  What  more 
could  he  want? 

Alas!  he  wanted  the  power  of  enjoying  these  riches;  they 
had  come  too  late. 

This  fortune,  fallen  from  the  skies,  should  have  filled  his 
heart  with  joy;  whereas  it  only  made  him  melancholy  and 
angry. 

This  unlooked-for  happiness  seemed  to  have  been  sent  by 
cruel  fate  as  a  punishment  for  his  past  sins.  What  could  be 
more  terrible  than  seeing  this  haven  of  rest  open  to  him,  and 
to  be  prevented  from  enjoying  it  because  of  his  own  vile  plot- 
tings? 

Although  his  conscience  told    him  that  he  deserved  thi* 


284  FILE    NO.    113. 

misery,  he  blamed  Gaston  entirely  for  his  present  tortniU 
Yes,  he  held  Gaston  responsible  for  the  horrible  situation  in 
which  he  found  himself. 

His  letters  to  Raoul  for  several  days  expressed  all  the 
fluctuations  of  his  mind,  and  revealed  glimpses  of  coming  evil. 

'*  I  have  twenty-five  thousand  livres  a  year,*'  he  wrote  to 
him,  a  few  hours  after  signing  the  agreement  of  partnership; 
*'and  I  possess  in  my  own  right  five  hundred  thousand 
francs.  One  fourth  of  this  sum  would  have  made  me  the 
happiest  of  men  a  year  ago.  Now  it  is  of  no  use  to  me.  All 
the  gold  on  earth  could  not  remove  one  of  the  difficulties  of 
our  situation.  Yes,  you  were  right.  I  have  been  imprudent; 
but  I  pay  dear  for  my  precipitation.  We  are  now  going 
down-hill  so  rapidly  that  nothing  can  save  us;  we  must  fall  to 
the  very  bottom.  To  attempt  stopping  half-way  would  be 
madness.  Eich  or  poor,  I  have  cause  to  tremble  as  long  as 
there  is  any  risk  of  a  meeting  between  Gaston  and  Valentine. 
How  can  they  be  kept  apart?  Will  my  brother  renounce  his 
plan  of  discovering  the  whereabouts  of  this  woman  whom  he 
so  loved?'' 

No;  Gaston  would  never  be  turned  from  his  search  for  his 
first  love,  as  he  proved  b}'  calling  for  her  in  the  most  beseech- 
ing tones  when  he  was  suffering  the  worst  paroxysms  of  pain. 

He  grew  no  better.  In  spite  of  the  most  careful  nursing 
his  symptoms  changed,  but  showed  no  improvement. 

Each  attack  was  more  violent  than  the  preceding. 

Toward  the  end  of  the  week  the  pains  left  his  head,  and  he 
felt  well  enough  to  get  up  and  partake  of  a  shght  nourish- 
ment. 

But  poor  Gaston  was  a  mere  shadow  of  his  former  self. 
In  one  week  he  had  aged  ten  years.  His  strong  constitution 
was  broken.  He,  who  ten  days  ago  was  boasting  of  his  vigor- 
ous health,  was  now  weak,  and  bent  like  an  old  man.  He 
could  hardly  drag  himself  along,  and  shivered  in  the  warm 
Bun  as  if  he  were  bloodless. 

Leaning  on  Louis's  arm,  he  slowly  walked  down  to  look  at 
the  forge,  and,  seating  himself  before  a  furnace  at  full  blast, 
he  declared  that  he  felt  very  much  better,  that  this  intense 
heat  revived  him. 

His  pains  were  all  gone,  and  he  could  breathe  without  diffi- 
cult;^. 

His  spirits  rose,  and  he  turned  to  the  workmen  gathered 
tround,  and  said,  cheerfully: 

"  I  was  not  blessed  with  &  good  constitution  for  nothing, 
Joy  friends,  and  I  shall  soon  be  well  again." 


MLB  SO.  113.  285 

When  the  neighbors  called  to  see  him,  and  insisted  that  this 
illness  was  entirely  owing  to  change  of  climate,  Gaston  replied 
that  he  supposed  they  were  right,  and  that  he  would  return  to 
Eio  as  soon  as  he  was  well  enough  to  travel. 

What  hope  this  answer  roused  in  Louis's  breast! 

"  Yes,-"  he  eagerly  said,  "  I  will  go  with  you;  a  trip  to 
Brazil  would  be  charming!    Let  us  start  at  once/' 

But  the  next  day  Gaston  had  changed  his  mind. 

He  told  Louis  that  he  felt  almost  well,  and  was  determined 
not  to  leave  France.  He  proposed  going  to  Paris  to  consult 
the  best  physicians;  and  then  he  would  see  Valentine. 

That  night  he  grew  worse. 

As  his  illness  increased,  he  became  more  surprised  and 
troubled  at  not  hearing  from  Beaucaire. 

He  wrote  again  in  the  most  pressing  terms,  and  sent  the 
letter  by  a  courier,  who  was  to  wait  for  the  answer. 

This  letter  was  never  received  by  Lafourcade. 

At  midnight  Gaston's  sufferings  returned  with  renewed 
violence,  and  for  the  first  time  Dr.  C was  uneasy. 

A  fatal  termination  seemed  inevitable.  Gaston's  pain  left 
him  in  a  measure,  but  he  was  growing  weaker  every  moment. 
His  mind  wandered,  and  his  feet  were  as  cold  as  ice.  On  the 
fourteenth  day  of  his  illness,  after  lying  in  a  stupor  for  several 
hours,  he  revived  sufficiently  to  ask  for  a  priest,  saying  that  he 
would  follow  the  example  of  his  ancestors,  and  die  like  a 
Christian. 

The  priest  left  him  after  half  an  hour's  interview,  and  all 
the  workmen  were  summoned  to  receive  the  farewell  greeting 
of  their  master. 

Gaston  spoke  a  few  kind  words  to  them  all,  saying  that  he 
had  provided  for  them  in  his  will. 

After  they  had  gone,  he  made  Louis  promise  to  carry  on 
the  iron-works,  embraced  him  for  the  last  time,  and  sunk 
back  on  his  pillow  in  a  dying  state. 

As  the  bell  tolled  for  noon  he  quietly  breathed  his  last, 
murmuring,  softly,  "  In  three  years,  Valentine:  wait  for 
me.'* 

Now  Louis  was  in  reality  Marquis  of  Clameran,  and  besides 
was  a  millionaire. 

Two  weeks  later,  having  made  arrangements  with  the  en- 
gineer in  charge  of  the  iron- works  to  attend  to  everything 
during  his  absence,  he  took  his  seat  in  the  train  for  Paris. 

He  had  sent  the  following  telegram  to  Kaoul  the  nighf 
previous: 

"  I  will  see  you  to-morrow.  *' 


386  VILE  lii^a  113. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

Faithful  to  the  programme  laid  down  by  his  accomplice, 
while  Louis  watched  at  Oloron,  Raoul  remained  in  Paris  witlj 
che  purpose  of  recovering  the  confidence  and  affection  of  Mme. 
Fauvel  and  of  lulling  any  suspicions  which  might  arise  in  he« 
breast. 

The  task  was  diflBcult,  but  not  impossible. 

Mme.  Fauvel  had  been  distressed  by  EaouFs  wild  extrava- 
gance, but  had  never  ceased  to  love  him. 

Whatever  faults  he  had  committed,  whatever  future  follies 
he  might  indulge  in,  he  would  always  remain  her  best-loved 
child,  her  first-born,  the  living  image  of  her  noble,  handsome 
Gaston,  the  lover  of  her  youth. 

She  adored  her  two  sons,  Lucien  and  Abel;  but  she  could 
not  overcome  an  indulgent  weakness  for  the  unfortunate  child, 
torn  from  her  arms  the  day  of  his  birth,  abandoned  to  the 
mercies  of  hired  strangers,  and  for  twenty  years  deprived  of 
home  influences  and  a  mother's  love. 

She  blamed  herself  for  Eaoul's  misconduct,  and  accepted 
the  responsibility  of  his  sins,  saying  to  herself:  "  It  is  my 
fault.  But  for  me  he  would  not  have  been  exposed  to  the 
temptations  of  the  world. " 

Knowing  these  to  be  her  sentiments,  Baoul  did  not  hesitate 
to  take  advantage  of  them. 

Never  were  more  irresistible  fascinations  employed  for  the 
accomplishment  of  a  wicked  object.  Beneath  an  air  of  inno- 
cent frankness,  this  precocious  scoundrel  concealed  wonderful 
astuteness  and  penetration.  He  could  at  will  adorn  himself 
with  the  confiding  artlessness  of  youth,  so  that  angels  might 
have  yielded  to  the  soft  look  of  his  large  dark  eyes.  There 
were  few  women  living  who  could  have  resisted  the  thrilling 
tones  of  his  sympathetic  voice. 

During  the  month  of  Louis's  absence,  Mme.  Fauvel  was  in 
a  state  of  comparative  happiness. 

Never  had  this  mother  and  wife  —  this  pure,  innocent 
woman,  in  spite  of  her  first  and  only  fault — enjoyed  such  tran- 
quillity. She  felt  as  one  under  the  influence  of  enchantment, 
while  reveling  in  the  sunshine  of  filial  love,  which  almost  bore 
the  character  of  a  lover's  passion;  for  Raours  devotion  was 
ardent  and  constant,  his  manner  so  tender  and  winning  that 
any  one  would  have  taken  him  for  Mme.  Fauvel's  suitor. 


PILE  NO.  113.  287 

As  s^e  was  still  at  her  country-seat,  and  M.  Fauvel  went 
into  the  city  every  morning  at  nine  o'clock,  and  did  not  return 
till  six,  she  had  the  whole  of  her  time  to  devote  to  Eaoul. 
When  she  had  spent  the  morning  with  him  at  his  house  in 
Vesinet,  she  would  often  bring  him  home  to  dine  and  spend 
the  evening  with  her. 

All  his  past  faults  were  forgiven,  or  rather  the  whole  blame 
of  them  was  laid  upon  Clameran;  for,  now  that  he  was  ab- 
sent, had  not  Raoul  once  more  become  her  noble,  generous, 
affectionate  son,  the  pride  and  consolation  of  her  hfe? 

Eaoul  enjoyed  the  life  he  was  leading,  and  took  such  an 
interest  in  the  part  that  he  was  playing,  that  his  acting  was 
perfect.  He  possessed  the  faculty  which  makes  cheats  suc- 
cessful— ^faith  in  his  own  impostures.  Sometimes  he  would 
stop  to  think  whether  he  was  telling  the  truth,  or  acting  a 
shameful  comedy. 

His  success  was  wonderful.  Even  Madeleine,  the  prudent, 
distrustful  Madeleine,  without  being  able  to  shake  off  her 
prejudice  against  the  young  adventurer,  confessed  that  per- 
haps she  had  been  influenced  by  appearances,  and  had  judged 
unjustly. 

Eaoul  not  only  never  asked  for  money,  but  even  refused  it 
when  offered;  saying  that,  now  that  his  uncle  was  away,  his 
expenses  were  but  trifling. 

Affairs  were  in  this  happy  state  when  Louis  arrived  from 
Oloron. 

Although  now  immensely  rich,  he  resolved  to  make  no 
change  in  his  style  of  living,  but  returned  to  his  apartments 
at  the  Hotel  du  Louvre. 

His  only  outlay  was  the  purchase  of  a  handsome  carriage; 
and  this  was  driven  by  Manuel,  who  consented  to  enter  his 
service,  although  Gaston  had  left  him  a  handsome  little  fort- 
une, more  than  sufldcient  to  support  him  comfortably. 

Louis's  dream,  the  height  of  his  ambition,  was  to  be  ranked 
among  the  great  manufacturers  of  France. 

He  was  prouder  of  being  called  "  iron  founder  '*  than  of  his 
marquisate. 

During  his  adventurous  life,  he  had  met  with  so  many  titled 
gamblers  and  cut-throats,  that  he  no  longer  believed  in  the 
prestige  of  nobility.  It  was  impossible  to  distinguish  the  coun- 
terfeit from  the  genuine.  He  thought  what  was  so  easily  imi- 
tated was  not  worth  the  having. 

Dearly  bought  experience  had  taught  him  that  our  unro- 
mantic  century  attaches  no  value  to  armorial  bearings,  unless 


i88  FILE    NO.    113. 

their  possessor  is  rich  enough  to  display  them  upon  a  splendid 
coach. 

One  can  be  a  marquis  without  a  marquisate,  but  it  is  im- 
possible to  be  a  forge-master  without  owumg  iron  works. 

Louis  now  thirsted  for  the  homage  of  the  world.  All  the 
badly  digested  humiliations  of  the  past  weighed  upon  him. 

He  had  suffered  so  much  contempt  and  scorn  from  his  fel- 
low-men, tliat  h^i  burned  to  avenge  himself.  After  a  disgrace- 
ful youth,  he  longed  to  live  a  respected  and  honored  old  age. 

His  past  career  disturbed  him  little.  He  was  suflSciently  ac- 
quainted with  tlib  world  to  know  that  the  noise  of  his  coach 
wheels  would  silence  the  jeers  of  those  who  knew  his  former 
life. 

These  thoughts  fermented  in  Louis's  brain  as  he  journeyed 
from  'Pau  to  Paris.  He  troubled  his  mind  not  in  the  least 
about  Raoul,  determining  to  use  him  as  a  tool  so  long  as  u9 
needed  his  services,  and  then  pay  him  a  large  sum  if  he  would 
go  back  to  England. 

All  these  plans  and  thoughts  were  afterward  found  noted 
down  in  the  diary  which  he  had  in  his  pocket  at  the  time  of 
the  journey. 

The  first  interview  between  the  accomplices  took  place  at 
the  Hotel  du  Louvre. 

Eaoul,  having  a  practical  turn  of  mind,  said  he  thought  that 
they  both  ought  to  be  contented  with  the  result  already  ob- 
tained, aud  that  it  would  be  folly  to  try  and  grasp  anything 
more. 

"  What  more  do  we  want?''  he  asked  his  uncle.  "  We  now 
possess  over  a  million:  let  us  divide  it  and  keep  quiet.  We 
had  better  be  satisfied  with  our  good  luck,  and  not  tempt 
Providence." 

But  this  moderation  did  not  suit  Louis. 

*'  I  am  rich,"  he  replied,  "  but  I  desire  more  than  wealth. 
I  am  determined  to  marry  Madeleine;  I  swear  she  shall  be 
my  wife!  In  the  first  place,  I  madly  love  her;  and  then,  as 
the  nephew  of  the  most  eminent  banker  in  Paris,  I  at  once 
gain  high  position  and  public  consideration." 

*'  I  tell  you,  uncle,  your  courtship  will  involve  you  in  great 
risks." 

"  I  don't  care  if  it  does.  I  choose  to  run  them.  My  in- 
tention is  to  share  my  fortune  with  you;  but  I  will  not  do  so 
till  the  day  after  my  wedding.  Madeleine's  fortune  will  then 
be  yours." 

Raoul  was  silent.  Clameran  held  the  money,  and  was  there^ 
fore  master  c'  the  situation. 


PILE  NO.  113.  289 

**  You  don't  seem  to  anticipate  any  diflBculty  in  carrying  out 
your  wishes/' he  said  discontentedly;  "how  are  you  to  ac- 
count for  your  suddenly  acquired  fortune?  M.  Fauvel  knows 
that  a  Clameran  lived  at  Oloron,  and  had  money  in  his  bank. 
You  tell  him  that  you  never  heard  of  this  person  bearing 
your  name,  and  then,  at  the  end  of  a  month,  you  come  and 
say  you  have  inherited  his  fortune.  People  don't  inherit  fort- 
unes from  perfect  strangers;  so  you  had  better  trump  up 
some  relationship." 

"  You  are  an  innocent  youth,  nephew;  your  ingenuousness 
is  amusing." 

"  Explain  yourself. ''*' 

"  Certainly,  The  banker,  his  wife,  and  Madeleine  must  be 
informed  that  the  Clameran  of  Oloron  was  a  natural  son  of  my 
father,  consequently  my  brother,  born  at  Hamburg,  and  rec- 
ognized during  the  emigration.  Of  course,  he  wished  to  leave 
his  fortune  to  his  own  family.  This  is  the  story  which  you 
must  tell  Madame  Fauvel  to-morrow." 

"  That  is  a  bold  step  to  take." 

"  How  so?" 

**  Inquiries  might  be  made." 

"  Who  would  make  them?  The  banker  would  not  trouble 
himself  to  do  so.  What  difference  is  it  to  him  whether  I  had  a 
brother  or  not?  My  title  as  heir  is  legally  authenticated ;  and 
all  he  has  to  do  is  to  pay  the  money  he  holds,  and  there  his 
business  ends. " 

"  I  am  not  afraid  of  his  giving  trouble." 

"  Do  you  think  that  Madame  Fauvel  and  her  niece  will  ask 
any  questions?  Why  should  they?  They  have  no  grounds 
for  suspicion.  Besides,  they  can  not  take  a  step  without  com- 
promising themselves.  If  they  knew  all  our  secrets,  I  would 
not  have  the  least  fear  of  their  making  revelations.  They 
have  sense  enough  to  know  that  they  had  best  keep  quiet." 

Not  finding  any  other  objections  to  make,  Raoul  said: 

"  Very  well,  then,  I  obey  you;  but  I  am  not  to  call  upon 
Madame  Fauvel  for  any  more  money,  am  I?" 

"  And  why  not,  pray?" 

**  Because,  my  uncle,  you  are  rich  now." 

**  Suppose  I  am  rich,"  replied  Louis,  triumphantly: 
**  what  is  that  to  you?  Have  we  not  quarreled  about  the 
means  of  making  this  money?  and  did  you  not  heap  abuse 
upon  me  until  I  consider  myself  justified  in  refusing  you  any 
assistance  whatever?  However,  I  will  overlook  the  past. 
4iid,  when  I  explain  my  present  plan,  you  will  feel  ashamed 
39 


290  FILE    NO.    113, 

of  your  former  doubts  and  suspicion.  You  will  say  with  me, 
*  Success  is  certain.'  *' 

Louis  de  Clamerau's  scheme  was  very  simple,  and  there- 
fore unfortunately  presented  the  strongest  chances  of  success. 

**  We  will  go  back,  and  look  at  our  balance-sheet.  As 
heretofore,  my  brilliant  nephew,  you  seem  to  have  misunder- 
stood my  management  of  this  affair,  I  will  now  explain  it  to 
you.'' 

**  I  am  listening." 

*'  In  the  first  place,  I  presented  myself  to  Madame  Fauvel, 
and  said,  not,  *  Your  money  or  your  life,*  but '  Your  money  or 
your  reputation.*  It  was  a  rude  blow  to  strike,  but  effective. 
As  I  expected,  she  was  frightened,  and  regarded  me  with  the 
greatest  aversion. " 

**  Aversion  is  a  mild  term,  uncle." 

"  I  know  that.  Then  I  brought  you  upon  the  scene;  and, 
without  flattering  you  in  the  least,  I  must  say  that  your  open- 
ing act  was  a  perfect  success.  I  was  concealed  behind  the 
curtain,  and  saw  your  first  interview;  it  was  sublime!  She 
saw  you,  and  loved  you;  you  spoke  a  few  woi-ds,  and  won  her 
heart. " 

'*  And  but  for  you — " 

"  Let  me  finish.  This  was  the  first  act  of  our  comedy. 
Let  us  pass  to  the  second.  Your  extravagant  follies — your 
grandfather  would  have  said,  your  dissoluteness — soon  changed 
our  respective  situations.  Madame  Fauvel,  without  ceasing  to 
worship  you — you  resemble  Gaston  so  closely — was  uneasy 
about  you.  She  was  so  frightened  that  she  was  forced  to  come 
to  me  for  assistance." 

**  Poor  woman!" 

*'  I  acted  my  part  very  well,  as  you  must  confess.  I  was 
grave,  cold,  indignant,  and  represented  the  distressed  uncle  to 
perfection.  I  spoke  of  the  old  probity  of  the  Clamerans,  and  be- 
moaned that  the  family  honor  should  be  dragged  in  the  dust 
by  a  degenerate  descendant.  For  a  short  time  I  triumphed  at 
your  expense;  Madame  Fauvel  forgot  her  former  prejudice 
against  me,  and  soon  showed  that  she  esteemed  and  Hked  me. " 

"  That  must  have  been  a  long  time  ago." 

Louis  paid  no  attention  to  this  ironical  interruption. 

*'  Now  we  come  to  the  third  scene,"  he  went  on  to  say, 
"  the  time  when  Madame  Fauvel,  having  Madeleine  for  an 
adviser,  judged  us  at  our  true  value.  Oh!  you  need  not  flatter 
yourself  that  she  did  not  fear  and  despise  us  both.  If  she  did 
not  hate  you,  Raoul,  it  was  because  a  mother's  heart  always 


PILE   NO.   113.  291 

forgives  a  sinful  child.     A  mother  can  despise  and  worship 
her  son  at  the  same  time. " 

*'  She  has  proved  it  to  me  in  so  many  touching  ways,  that  I 
— ^yes,  even  1,  hardened  as  I  am — was  moved,  and  felt  re- 
morse. '* 

"  Parbleu!  I  have  felt  some  pangs  myself.  Where  did  I 
leave  off:  Oh,  yes!  Madame  Fauvel  was  frightened,  an(3 
Madeleine,  bent  on  sacrificing  herself,  had  discarded  Prosper, 
and  consented  to  marry  me,  when  the  existence  of  Gaston  was 
suddenly  revealed.  And  what  has  happened  since.''  You 
have  succeeded  in  convincing  Madame  Fauvel  that  you  are 
pure,  and  that  I  am  blacker  than  hell.  She  is  blinded  by  your 
noble  qualities,  and  she  and  Madeleine  regard  me  as  your  evil 
genius,  whose  pernicious  influence  led  you  astray. " 

"  You  are  right,  my  venerated  uncle;  that  is  precisely  the 
position  you  occupy.^' 

**  Very  good.  Now  we  come  to  the  fifth  act,  and  our  com- 
edy needs  entire  change  of  scenery.     We  must  veer  around. " 

"  Change  our  tactics?" 

**  You  think  it  difficult,  I  suppose?  Nothing  easier.  Lis- 
ten attentively,  for  the  future  depends  upon  your  skillful- 
ness. " 

Eaoul  leaned  back  in  his  chair  with  folded  arms,  as  if  pre- 
pared for  anything,  and  said: 

"  I  am  ready. '^ 

**  The  first  thing  for  you  to  do,*'  said  Louis,  **  is  to  go  to 
Madame  Fauvel  to-morrow,  and  tell  her  the  story  about  my 
natural  brother.  She  will  not  believe  you,  but  that  makes  no 
difference.  The  important  thing  is,  for  you  to  appear  con- 
vinced of  the  truth  of  what  you  tell  her. " 

"  Consider  me  convinced.'* 

*'  Five  days  hence,  I  will  call  on  M.  Fauvel,  and  confirm 
the  notification  sent  him  by  my  notary  at  Oloron,  that  the 
money  deposited  in  the  bank  now  belongs  to  me.     I  will  re- 

Eeat,  for  his  benefit,  the  story  of  the  natural  brother,  and  ask 
im  to  keep  the  money  until  I  call  for  it,  as  I  have  no  occa- 
sion for  it  at  present.  You,  who  are  so  distrustful,  my  good 
nephew,  may  regard  this  deposit  as  a  guaranty  of  my  sin- 
cerity. *' 

**  We  will  talk  of  that  another  time.     Go  on." 
"  Then  I  will  go  to  Madame  Fauvel,  and  say,  *  Being  very 
poor,  my  dear  madame,  necessity  compelled  me  to  claim  your 
assiafcange  in  the  support  of  my  brother's  son,  who  is  alw 
yours.     This  youth  is  worthless  and  extravagant. ' " 
*'  Thanks,  my  good  uncle. " 


393  FILE    NO.    113. 

**  *  He  has  poisoned  your  life  when  he  should  have  added  to 
your  happiness.  He  is  a  constant  anxiety  and  sorrow  to  your 
maternal  heart.  I  have  come  to  offer  my  regrets  for  your  past 
trouble,  and  to  assure  you  that  you  will  have  no  annoyance  in 
the  future.  I  am  now  rich,  and  henceforth  take  the  whole 
responsibility  of  Eaoul  upon  myself.  1  will  provide  hand- 
somely for  him.'' 

*'  Is  that  what  you  call  a  scheme?" 

*'  Parbleu,  you  will  see  whether  it  i*  After  listening  to 
this  speech,  Madame  Fauvel  will  feel  inclined  to  throw  her- 
self in  my  arms,  by  way  of  expressing  her  gratitude  and  joy. 
She  will  refrain,  however,  on  account  of  her  niece.  She  will 
ask  me  to  relinquish  my  claim  on  Madeleine's  hand,  now  that 
I  am  rich.  I  will  roundly  tell  her.  No.  I  will  make  this  an 
opportunity  for  an  edifying  display  of  magnanimity  and  dis- 
interestedness. I  will  say,  '  Madame,  you  have  accused  me  of 
cupidity.  I  am  now  able  to  prove  your  injustice.  I  have  been 
infatuated,  as  every  man  must  be,  by  the  beauty,  grace,  and 
intelligence  of  Mademoiselle  Madeleine;  and — I  love  her.  If 
she  were  penniless,  my  devotion  would  only  be  the  more 
ardent.  She  has  been  promised  to  me,  and  I  must  insist  upon 
this  one  article  of  our  agreement.  This  must  be  the  price  of 
my  silence.  And,  to  prove  that  I  am  not  influenced  by 
fortune,  I  give  you  my  sacred  promise  that,  the  day  after  the 
wedding,  I  will  send  Kaoul  a  stock  receipt  of  twenty-five  thou- 
sand livres  per  annum.'  " 

Louis  expressed  himself  with  such  convincing  candor  that 
Kaoul,  an  artist  in  knavery,  was  charmed  and  astonished. 

*'  Beautifully  done,"  he  cried,  clapping  his  hands  with 
glee.  *'  That  last  sentence  will  create  a  chasm  between 
Madame  Fauvel  and  her  niece.  The  promise  of  a  fortune  for 
me  will  certainly  bring  my  mother  over  to  our  side." 

'*  I  hope  so,"  said  Louis  with  pretended  modesty.  "And 
I  have  strong  reasons  for  hoping  so,  as  I  shall  be  able  to 
furnish  the  good  lady  with  excellent  arguments  for  excusing 
herself  in  her  own  eyes.  You  know  when  some  one  proposes 
some  little — what  shall  we  call  it— transaction  to  an  honest 
person,  it  must  be  accompanied  by  justifications  sufficient  to 
quiet  all  qualms  of  conscience.  I  shall  prove  to  Madame 
Fauvel  and  her  niece  that  Prosper  has  shamefully  deceived 
them.  I  shall  prove  to  them  that  he  is  cramped  by  debts, 
dissipated,  and  a  reckless  gambler,  openly  associating  with  a 
woman  of  no  character. " 

**  And  very  pretty,  besides,  bj  Jove!    You  must  not  neglect 


FILE    NO.    113.  293 

to  expatiate  upon  the  beauty  and  fascinations  of  the  adorable 
Gipsy;  that  will  be  your  strongest  point.'' 

Don't  be  alarmed;  I  shall  be  more  eloquent  than  a  pop- 
ular divine.  Then  I  will  explain  to  Madame  Fauvel  that  if 
she  really  loves  her  niece,  she  will  persuade  her  to  marry,  not 
an  insignificant  cashier,  but  a  man  of  position,  a  great  man- 
ufacturer, a  marquis,  and,  more  than  this,  one  rich  enougli 
to  establish  you  in  the  world.'* 

Eaoul  was  dazzled  by  this  brilliant  prospect. 

*'If  you  don't  decide  her  you  will  make  her  waver,"  ha 
said. 

"  Oh!  I  don't  expect  a  sudden  change.  I  only  intend 
planting  the  germ  in  her  mind;  thanks  to  you,  it  will  develop, 
flourish,  and  bear  fruit. " 

"Thanks  to  me?" 

*'  Allow  me  to  finish.  After  making  my  speeches  I  shall 
disappear  from  the  scene,  and  your  role  will  commence.  Of 
course  your  mother  will  repeat  the  conversation  to  you,  and 
then  we  can  judge  of  the  eifect  produced.  But  remember, 
you  must  scorn  to  receive  any  assistance  from  me.  You  must 
swear  that  you  will  brave  all  privations,  want,  famine  even, 
rather  than  accept  a  cent  from  a  base  man  whom  you  hate 
and  despise;  a  man  who —  But  you  know  exactly  what  you 
are  to  say.     I  can  rely  upon  you  for  good  acting." 

"  No' one  can  surpass  me  when  I  am  interested  in  my  part. 
In  pathetic  roles  I  am  always  a  success,  when  I  have  had 
time  to  prepare  myself.  " 

"  I  know  you  are.  But  this  disinterestedness  need  not 
prevent  you  from  resuming  your  dissipations.  You  must 
gamble,  bet,  and  lose  more  money  than  you  ever  did  before. 
You  must  increase  your  demands,  and  say  that  you  must  have 
money  at  all  cost.  You  need  not  account  to  me  for  any 
money  you  can  extort  from  her.  All  you  get  is  your  own  to 
spend  as  you  please." 

"  You  don't  say  so!    If  you  mean  that — " 

"  You  will  hurry  up  matters,  I'll  be  bound." 

"  I  can  promise  you,  no  time  shall  be  wasted." 

**  Now  listen  to  what  you  are  to  do,  Eaoul.  Before  the  end 
of  three  months,  you  must  have  exhausted  the  resources  of 
these  two  women.  You  must  force  from  them  every  f rano 
they  can  raise,  so  that  they  will  be  wholly  unable  to  procure 
money  to  supply  your  increasing  demands.  In  three  months 
I  must  find  them  penniless,  absolutely  ruined,  without  even  a 
jewel  left " 


294  FILE   NO.   113. 

BaonI  WSB  startled  at  the  passionate,  vindictive  tone  of 
Louis's  voice  as  he  uttered  these  last  words. 

*'  You  must  hate  these  women,  if  you  are  so  determined 
to  make  them  miserable, ''  he  said. 

**  I  hate  them?"  cried  Louis.  "  Can't  you  see  that  I  madly 
love  Madeleine,  love  her  as  only  a  man  of  my  age  can  love? 
Is  not  her  image  ever  in  my  mind?  Does  not  the  very  men- 
tion of  her  name  fire  my  heart,  and  make  me  tremble  like  9 
school-boy?'' 

*'  Your  great  devotion  does  not  prevent  your  planning  the 
destruction  of  her  present  happiness. " 

"  Necessity  compels  me  to  do  so.  Nothing  but  the  most 
cruel  deceptions  and  the  bitterest  suffering  would  ever  induce 
her  to  become  my  wife,  to  take  me  as  the  lesser  of  two  evils. 
The  day  on  which  you  lead  Madame  Fauvel  and  her  niece  to 
the  extreme  of  the  precipice,  pointed  out  its  dark  depths,  and 
convinced  them  that  they  are  irretrievably  lost,  I  shall  appear, 
and  rescue  them.  Why,  it  will  be  the  crowning  scene  of  our 
drama.  I  will  play  my  part  with  such  grandeur,  such  lofty 
magnanimity,  that  Madeleine  will  be  touched,  will  forget  her 
past  enmity,  and  regard  me  with  favorable  eyes.  When  she 
finds  that  it  is  her  sweet  self,  and  not  her  money,  that  I  want, 
she  will  soften,  and  in  time  yield  to  my  entreaties.  No  true 
'woman  can  be  indifferent  to  a  grand  passion.  I  don't  pretend 
to  say  that  she  will  love  me  at  first;  but,  if  she  will  only  con- 
sent to  be  mine,  I  ask  for  nothing  more;  time  will  do  much> 
ever  for  a  poor  devil  like  myself." 

Raoul  was  shocked  at  this  cold-blooded  perversity  of  his 
nncle;  but  Clameran  showed  his  immense  superiority  in  wick- 
edness and  the  apprentice  admired  the  master. 

**  You  would  certainly  succeed,  uncle,"  he  said,  **  were  it 
not  for  the  cashier.  Between  you  and  Madeleine,  Prosper 
will  always  stand;  if  not  in  person,  certainly  in  memory." 

Louis  smiled  scornfully,  and,  throwing  a\^ay  his  cigar  which 
had  died  out,  said: 

"  I  don't  mind  Prosper,  or  attach  any  more  importance  to 
him  than  to  that  cigar. 

'*  But  she  loves  him. " 

"So  much  the  worse  for  him.  Six  months  hence,  she  will 
despise  him;  he  is  already  morally  ruined,  and  at  the  proper 
time  I  will  make  an  end  of  him  socially.  Do  you  know- 
whither  the  road  of  dissipation  leads,  my  good  nephew?  Pros- 
per supports  Gipsy,  who  is  extravagant;  he  gambles,  keeps 
fast  horses,  and  gives  suppers.  Now,  you  gamble  yourself, 
and  know  how  much  money  can  be  squandered  in  one  night; 


PiiJE  NO.  113.'  395 

the  losses  of  baccarat  must  be  paid  withfh  twenty-four  hours. 
He  has  lost  heavily,  must  pay,  and — has  charge  of  the  money 
safe.'-' 

Eaoul  protested  against  this  insinuation. 

"  It  is  useless  to  tell  me  that  he  is  honest,  that  nothing 
would  induce  him  to  touch  money  that  does  not  belong  to 
him.  I  know  better.  Parbleu!  I  was  honest  myself  until  I 
learned  to  gamble.  Any  man  with  a  grain  of  sense  would 
have  married  Madeleine  long  ago,  and  sent  us  flying  bag  and 
baggage.  You  say  she  loves  him?  No  one  but  a  coward 
would  be  defrauded  of  the  woman  he  loved  and  who  loved 
him.  Ah,  if  I  had  once  felt  Madeleine's  hand  tremble  in 
mine,  if  her  rosy  lips  had  once  pressed  a  kiss  upon  my  brow, 
the  whole  world  could  not  take  her  from  me.  Woe  to  him 
who  dared  stand  in  my  path!  As  it  is,  Prosper  annoys  me, 
and  I  intend  to  suppress  him.  With  your  aid  I  will  so  cover 
him  with  disgrace  and  infamy,  that  Madeleine  will  drive 
every  thought  of  him  from  her  mind,  and  her  love  will  turn 
to  hate. " 

Louis's  tone  of  rage  and  vengeance  startled  Eaoul,  and 
made  him  regard  the  affair  in  a  worse  light  than  ever. 

"  You  have  given  me  a  shameful,  dastardly  role  to  play," 
he  said  after  a  long  pause. 

"My  honorable  nephew  has  scruples,  I  suppose,"  said 
Clameran,  sneeringly. 

*'  Kot  exactly  scruples;  yet  I  confess — " 

"  That  you  want  to  retreat?  Rather  too  late  to  sing  that 
tune,  my  friend.  You  wish  to  enjoy  every  luxury,  have  your 
pockets  filled  with  gold,  cut  a  fine  figure  in  high  society,  and 
remain  virtuous.  Are  you  fool  enough  to  suppose  a  poor  man 
can  be  honest?  'Tis  a  luxury  pertaining  to  the  wealthy.  Did 
you  ever  see  people  such  as  we  draw  money  from  the  pure  font 
of  virtue?  We  must  fish  in  muddy  waters,  and  then  wash 
ourselves  clean,  and  enjoy  the  result  of  our  labor." 

"  I  have  never  been  rich  enough  to  be  honest,"  said  Eaoul, 
humbly;  "  but  I  must  say  it  goes  hard  with  me  to  torture  two 
defenseless  frightened  women,  and  ruin  the  character  of  a  poor 
devil  who  regards  me  as  his  best  friend.     It  is  a  low  business!" 

This  resistance  exasperated  Louis  to  the  last  degree. 

'*  Yon  are  the  most  absurd,  ridiculous  fool  I  ever  met,"  he 
cried.  "  An  opportunity  occurs  for  us  to  make  an  immenc* 
fortune.  All  we  have  to  do  is  to  stretch  out  our  hands  and 
take  it;  when  you  must  needs  prove  refractory,  like  a  whim- 
pering baby.  Nobody  but  an  ass  would  refuse  to  drink  whec 
te  is  thirsty,  because  he  sees  a  little  mud  at  the  bottom  of  th* 


296  SiLE  NO.  113: 

bucket.  I  suppose  you  prefer  theft  on  a  small  scale,  stealing 
by  driblets.  And  where  will  your  system  lead  you?  To  th« 
poor-house  or  the  police-station.  You  prefer  living  from 
hand  to  mouth,  supported  by  Madame  Fauvel,  having  small 
sums  doled  out  to  you  to  pay  your  little  gambhng  debts." 

"  I  am  neither  ambitious  nor  cruel.'' 

*'  And  suppose  Madame  Fauvel  dies  to-morrow:  what  will 
become  of  you?  Will  you  go  cringing  up  to  the  widower,  and 
implore  him  to  continue  your  allowance?'' 

"Enough  said,"  cried  Eaoul,  angrily  interrupting  hia 
uncle.  "  I  never  had  an  idea  of  retreating.  I  made  these 
objections  to  show  what  infamous  work  you  expect  of  me,  and 
at  the  same  time  to  prove  to  you  that  without  my  assistance 
you  can  do  nothing. " 

"  I  never  pretended  to  the  contrary." 

"  Then,  my  noble  uncle,  we  might  as  well  settle  what  my 
share  is  to  be.  Oh!  it  is  not  worth  while  for  you  to  indulge 
in  idle  protestations.  What  will  you  give  me  in  case  of  suc- 
cess? and  what  if  we  fail?" 

"  I  told  you  before.  I  will  give  you  twenty-five  thousand 
livres  a  year,  and  all  you  can  secure  between  now  and  my 
wedding-day." 

"  This  arrangement  suits  me  very  well;  but  where  are  your 
securities?" 

This  question  was  discussed  a  long  time  before  it  was  satis- 
factorily settled  by  the  accomplices  who  had  every  reason  to 
distrust  each  other. 

"  What  are  you  afraid  of?"  asked  Clameran. 

"  Everything,"  replied  Eaoul.  "Where  am  I  to  obtain 
justice,  if  you  deceive  me?  From  this  pretty  little  poniard? 
No,  thank  you,  I  would  be  made  to  pay  as  dear  for  your  hide 
as  for  that  of  an  honest  man." 

Finally,  after  long  debate  and  much  recrimination,  the 
matter  was  arranged,  and  they  shook  hands  before  separating. 

Alas!  Madame  Fauvel  and  her  niece  soon  felt  the  evil 
effects  of  the  understanding  between  the  villains. 

Everything  happened  as  Louis  had  arranged. 

Once  more,  when  Mme.  Fauvel  had  begun  to  breathe  freely, 
and  to  hope  that  her  troubles  were  over,  Eaoul's  conduct  sud- 
denly changed;  he  became  more  extravagant  and  dissipated 
than  ever. 

Formerly  Mme.  Fauvel  would  have  said,  "  I  wonder  what 
he  does  with  all  the  money  I  give  him?"  Now  she  saw  where 
it  went. 

Eaoul  was  reckless  in  his  wickedness;  he  was  intimate  with 


FILE  NO.  113.  297 

actresses,  openly  layishing  money  and  jewelry  upon  them;  he 
drove  about  with  four  horses,  and  bet  heavily  on  every  race. 
Never  had  he  been  so  exacting  aud  exorbitant  in  his  demands 
for  money;  Mme.  Fauvel  had  the  greatest  difficulty  in  supply- 
inghis  wants. 

He  no  longer  made  excuses  and  apologies  for  spending  so 
much;  instead  of  coaxingly  entreating,  he  demanded  money 
as  a  right,  threatening  to  betray  Mme.  Fauvel  to  her  husband 
if  she  refused  him. 

At  this  rate,  all  the  possessions  of  Mme.  Fauvel  and  Made- 
leine soon  disappeared.  In  one  month  all  their  money  had 
been  squandered.  Then  they  were  compelled  to  resort  to  the 
most  shameful  expedients  in  the  household  expenses.  They 
economized  in  every  possible  way,  making  purchases  on  credit, 
and  making  tradesmen  wait;  then  they  changed  figures  in  tho 
bills,  and  even  invented  accounts  of  things  never  bought. 

These  imaginary  costly  whims  increased  so  rapidly,  that  M. 
Fauvel  one  day  said,  as  he  signed  a  large  check,  '*  ^Pon  my 
word,  ladies,  you  will  buy  out  all  the  stores,  if  you  keep  on  in 
this  way.  But  nothing  pleases  me  better  than  to  see  you 
gratify  every  wish.*' 

Poor  women!  For  months  they  had  bought  nothing,  but 
had  lived  upon  the  remains  of  their  former  splendor,  having 
all  their  old  dresses  made  over,  to  keep  up  appearances  in 
society. 

More  clear-sighted  than  her  aunt,  Madeleine  saw  plainly  that 
the  day  would  soon  come  when  everything  would  have  to  be  ex- 
plained. 

Although  she  knew  that  the  sacrifices  of  the  present  would 
avail  nothing  in  the  future,  that  all  this  money  was  being 
thrown  away  without  securing  her  aunt^s  peace  of  mind,  yet 
she  was  silent.  A  high-minded  delicacy  made  her  conceal  her 
apprehensions  beneath  an  assumed  calmness. 

The  fact  of  her  sacrificing  herself,  made  her  refrain  from 
uttering  anything  hke  a  complaint  or  censure.  She  seemed  to 
forget  herself  entirely  in  her  efforts  to  comfort  her  aunt. 

"  As  soon  as  Eaoul  sees  we  have  nothing  more  to  give,'*  she 
would  say,  "  he  will  come  to  his  senses,  and  stop  all  this  ex- 
travagance." 

The  day  came  when  Mme.  Fauvel  and  Madeleine  found  it 
impossible  to  give  another  franc. 

The  evening  previous,  Mme.  Fauvel  had  a  dinner-party,  and 
vith  difficulty  scraped  together  enough  money  to  defray  the 
expenses. 

Kaoul  appeared,  and  said  that  he  was  in  the  greatest  n«ed  of 


298  PILE    NO.    113. 

aioney,  being  forced  to  pay  a  debt  of  two  thousand  francs  At 
once. 

In  vain  they  implored  him  to  wait  a  few  days,  until  liiey 
could  with  propriety  ask  M.  Fauvel  for  money.  He  declared 
that  he  must  have  it  now,  and  that  he  would  not  leave  tho 
house  without  it. 

"But  I  have  no  way  of  getting  it  for  you/*  said  Mme.  Fau- 
vel, desperately;  *'  you  have  taicen  everything  from  me.  J 
have  nothing  left  but  my  diamonds;  do  you  want  them?  If 
they  can  be  of  use,  take  them.'* 

Hardened  as  the  young  villain  was,  he  blushed  at  these 
words. 

He  felt  pity  for  this  unfortunate  woman,  who  had  always 
been  so  kind  and  indulgent  to  him,  who  had  so  often  lavished 
upon  him  her  maternal  caresses.  He  felt  for  the  noble  girl 
who  was  the  innocent  victim  of  a  vile  plot. 

But  he  was  bound  by  an  oath;  he  knew  that  a  powerful  hand 
would  save  these  women  at  the  brink  of  the  precipice.  More 
than  this,  he  saw  an  immense  fortune  at  the  end  of  his  road 
of  crime,  and  quieted  his  conscience  by  saying  that  he  would 
redeem  his  present  cruelty  by  honest  kindness  in  the  future. 
Once  out  of  the  clutches  of  Clameran,  he  would  be  a  better 
man,  and  try  to  return  some  of  the  kind  affection  shown  him 
by  these  poor  women. 

Stifling  his  better  impulses,  he  said,  harshly,  to  Mme.  Fau- 
vel, "  Give  me  the  jewels;  I  will  take  them  to  the  pawn- 
broker's.** Mme.  Fauvel  handed  him  a  box  containing  a  set 
of  diamonds.  It  was  a  present  from  her  husband  the  day  he 
became  worth  a  million. 

And  so  pressing  was  the  want  of  these  women,  who  were  sur- 
rounded by  princely  luxury,  with  their  ten  servants,  beautiful 
blooded  horses,  and  jewels  which  were  the  admiration  of  Paris, 
that  they  implored  him  to  bring  them  some  of  the  money 
which  he  would  procure  on  the  diamonds,  to  meet  their  daily 
wants. 

He  promised,  and  kept  his  word. 

But  they  had  revealed  a  new  source,  a  mine  to  be  worked; 
he  took  advantage  of  it. 

One  by  one  all  Mme.  Fauvel's  jewels  followed  the  way  of 
the  diamonds;  and  when  hers  were  all  gone,  those  of  Made- 
leine were  given  up. 

A  recent  lawsuit,  which  showed  how  a  young  and  beautiful 
woman  had  been  kept  in  a  state  of  terror,  and  almost  poverty, 
by  a  rascal  who  had  possession  of  her  letters — a  sad  case  whicb 


FILE    KO.    113.  299 

BO  honest  man  could  read  without  blushing  for  his  Bex — has 
revealed  to  what  depths  human  infamy  can  descend. 

And  such  abominable  crimes  are  not  so  rare  as  people  sup- 
pose. 

How  many  men  are  supported  entirely  by  stolen  secrets, 
from  the  coachman  who  claims  ten  louis  every  month  of  the 
foolish  girl  whom  he  drove  to  a  rendezvous,  to  the  elegant 
dandy  in  light  kids,  who  discovered  a  financial  swindle,  and 
makes  the  parties  iuterested  buy  his  silence,  can  not  be  known. 
This  is  called  the  extortion  of  hush-money,  the  most  cowardly 
and  infamous  of  crimes,  which  the  law,  unfortunately,  can 
rarely  overtake  and  punish. 

'*  Extortion  of  hush-money,'*  said  an  old  prefect  of  police, 
*'  is  a  trade  which  supports  at  least  a  thousand  scamps  in  Paris 
alone.  Sometimes  we  know  the  black-mailer  and  the  victim, 
and  yet  we  can  do  nothing.  Moreover,  if  we  were  to  catch  the 
villain  in  the  very  act,  and  hand  him  over  to  justice,  the  victim, 
in  ber  fright  at  the  chance  of  her  secret  being  discovered, 
would  turn  against  us. " 

It  is  true,  extortion  has  become  a  business.  Very  often  it  is 
the  business  of  loafers,  who  spend  plenty  of  money,  when 
every  one  knows  they  have  no  visible  means  of  support,  and  of 
whom  people  ask,  "  What  do  they  live  upon?^* 

The  poor  victims  do  not  know  how  easy  it  would  be  to  rid 
themselves  of  their  tyrants.  The  police  are  fully  capable  of 
faithfully  keeping  secrets  confided  to  them.  A  visit  to  the  Eue 
de  Jerusalem,  a  confidential  communication  with  the  head  of 
the  bureau,  who  is  as  silent  as  a  father  confessor,  and  the 
afl'air  is  arranged,  without  noise,  without  publicity,  without  any 
one  ever  being  the  wiser.  There  are  traps  for  "  master  ex- 
tortioners,*' which  work  well  in  the  hands  of  the  police.* 

Mme.  Fauvel  had  no  defense  against  the  scoundrels  who 
were  .torturing  her,  save  prayers  and  tears;  these  availed  her 
little. 

Sometimes  Mme.  Fauvel  betrayed  such  heart-broken  suffer- 
ing when  Raoul  begged  her  for  money  which  she  had  no  means 
of  obtaining,  that  he  would  hurry  away  disgusted  at  his  own 
brutal  conduct,  and  say  to  Clameran : 

*'  You  must  end  this  dirty  business;  I  can  not  stand  it  any 
longer.  I  wi»ll  blow  any  man's  brains  out,  or  fight  a  crowd  of 
cut-throats,  if  you  choose;  but  as  to  killing  by  agony  and 
fright  these  two  poor,  miserable  women,  whom  I  am  really 

*Seo  "The  Slaves  of  Paris,"  by  Emile  Gaboriau,  Seaside  LiBBAEt 
No.  476. 


300  FILE    NO.    113. 

fond  of,  I  am  not~going  to  do  it.  You  ask  for  more  than  I  ca« 
do.     I  am  not  quite  the  cowardly  hound  you  take  me  for. " 

Clameran  paid  no  attention  to  these  remonstrances:  indeed, 
he  was  prepared  for  them. 

"It  is  not  pleasant,  I  know,'*  he  replied;  "  but  necessity 
knows  no  law.  Have  a  little  more  perseverance  and  patience; 
we  have  almost  got  to  the  end.'' 

The  end  was  nearer  than  Clameran  supposed.  Toward  the 
latter  part  of  November,  Mnie.  Fauvel  saw  that  it  was  impos- 
sible to  postpone  the  catastrophe  any  longer,  and  as  a  last 
effort  determined  to  apply  to  the  marquis  for  assistance. 

She  had  not  seen  him  since  his  return  from  Oloron,  except 
once,  when  he  came  to  announce  his  accession  to  wealth.  At 
that  time  persuaded  that  he  was  the  evil  genius  of  Eaoul,  she 
had  received  him  VQry  coldly,  and  did  not  invite  him  to  repeat 
his  visit. 

She  hesitated  about  speaking  to  her  niece  of  the  step  she  in- 
tended taking,  because  she  feared  violent  opposition. 

To  her  great  surprise,  Madeleine  warmly  approved  of  it. 

Trouble  had  made  her  keen-sighted  and  suspicious.  Re- 
flecting on  past  events,  comparing  and  weighing  every  act  and 
speech  of  Eaoul,  she  was  now  convinced  that  he  was  Clame- 
ran'stool. 

She  thought  that  Eaoul  was  too  shrewd  to  be  acting  in  this 
shameful  way,  ruinously  to  his  own  interests,  if  there  were  not 
some  secret  motive  at  the  bottom  of  it  all.  She  saw  that  this 
persecution  was  more  feigned  than  real. 

So  thoroughly  was  she  convinced  of  this,  that,  had  it  only 
concerned  herself  alone,  she  would  have  firmly  resisted  the  op- 
pression, certain  that  the  threatened  exposure  would  never 
take  place. 

Eecalling,  with  a  shudder,  certain  looks  of  Clameran,  she 
guessed  the  truth,  that  the  object  of  all  this  underhand  work 
was  to  force  her  to  become  his  wife. 

Determined  on  making  the  sacrifice,  in  spite  of  her  repug- 
nance toward  the  man,  she  wished  to  have  the  deed  done  at 
once;  anything  was  preferable  to  this  terrible  anxiety,  to  the 
life  of  torture  which  Eaoul  made  her  lead.  She  felt  that  her 
courage  might  fail  if  she  waited  and  suffered  much  longer. 

"  The  sooner  you  see  Monsieur  de  Clameran  the  better  for 
us,  aunt,"  she  said,  after  talking  the  project  over. 

The  next  day  Mme.  Fauvel  called  on  the  marquis  at  the 
H6tel  du  Louvre,  having  sent  him  a  note  announcing  her  in* 
tended  Yieit 


FILE    NO.    113.  301 

He  received  her  with  cold,  studied  politeness,  like  a  man 
who  had  been  misunderstood  and  had  been  unjustly  wounded. 

After  listening  to  her  report  of  Eaoul's  scandalous  behavior, 
he  became  very  indignant,  and  swore  that  he  would  soon  make 
him  repent  of  his  heartlessness. 

But  when  Mme.  Fauvel  told  of  the  immense  sums  of  money 
forced  from  her,  Olameran  seemed  confounded,  as  if  he  could 
not  beliftve  it. 

"  The  worthless  rascal!"  he  exclaimed,  "  the  idea  of  his 
audacity!  Why,  during  the  last  four  months,  I  have  given 
him  more  than  twenty  thousand  francs,  which  I  would  not 
have  done  except  to  prevent  him  from  applying  to  you,  as  he 
constantly  threatened  to  do.'' 

Seeing  an  expression  of  doubtful  surprise  upon  Mme.  Fau- 
vel's  face,  Louis  arose,  and  took  from  his  desk  some  receipts 
signed  by  Eaoul.     The  total  amount  was  twenty-three  thou-- 
sand  five  hundred  francs. 

Mme.  Fauvel  was  shocked  and  amazed. 

"  He  has  obtained  forty  thousand  francs  from  me,"  she 
faintly  said,  "  so  that  altogether  he  has  spent  sixty  thousand 
francs  in  four  months." 

'*!  can't  imagine  what  he  does  with  it, "  said  OlameraU; 
*'  unless  he  spends  it  on  actresses." 

"  Good  heavens!  what  can  these  creatures  do  with  all  the 
money  lavished  on  them?" 

*'  That  is  a  question  I  can  not  answer,  madame." 

He  appeared  to  pity  Mme.  Fauvel  sincerely,  he  promised 
that  he  would  at  once  see  Eaoul,  and  reason  with  him  about 
the  shameful  life  he  was  leading;  perhaps  he  could  be  per- 
suaded to  reform.  Finally,  after  many  protestations  of  friend- 
ship, he  wound  up  by  placing  his  fortune  at  her  disposal. 

Although  Mme.  Fauvel  refused  his  otfer,  she  appreciated  the 
kindness  of  it,  and  on  returning  home  said  to  Madeleine: 

"Perhaps  we  have  mistaken  his  character;  he  may  be  a 
good  man  after  all." 

Madeleine  sadly  shook  her  head.  She  had  anticipated  just 
what  happened.  Clameran's  magnanimity  and  generosity 
confirmed  her  presentiments. 

Eaoul  came  to  see  his  uncle,  and  found  him  radiant. 

"  Everything  is  going  on  swimmingly,  my  smart  nephew," 
said  Olameran;  "  your  receipts  acted  like  a  charm.  Ah,  you 
are  a  partner  worth  having.  I  congratulate  you  upon  your 
success.     Forty  thousand  francs  in  four  months." 

"  Yes,"  said  Eaoul,  carelessly.  "  I  got  abeut  that  much 
from  the  pawnbrokers."  ».\^^^**^^co  ''*"^**^ 


302  PILE    NO.    113. 

"  Pestel    Then  you  must  have  a  nice  little  sum  laid  by." 

*'  That  is  my  business,  uncle,  and  not  yours.  Remember 
our  agreement.  I  will  tell  you  this  much;  Madame  Fauvel 
and  Madeleine  have  turned  everything  they  could  into  money; 
they  have  nothing  left,  and  I  have  had  enough  of  my  role." 

"  Your  role  is  ended.  I  forbid  you  to  hereafter  ask  for  a 
single  centime.'* 

"  What  are  you  about  to  do?    What  has  happened?" 

"  The  mine  is  loaded,  nephew,  and  I  am  awaiting  an  oppor- 
tunity to  set  fire  to  it." 

Louis  de  Clameran  relied  upon  making  his  rival.  Prosper 
Bertoniy,  furnish  him  this  ardently  desired  opportunity. 

He  loved  Madeleine  too  passionately  to  feel  aught  save  the 
bitterest  hate  toward  the  man  whom  she  had  freely  chosen,  and 
who  still  possessed  her  heart. 

Clameran  knew  that  he  could  marry  her  at  once  if  he  chose; 
but  in  what  way?  By  holding  a  sword  of  terror  over  her 
head,  and  forcing  her  to  be  his.  He  became  frenzied  at  the 
idea  of  possessing  her  person,  while  her  heart  and  soul  would 
always  be  with  Prosper. 

Thus  he  swore  that,  before  marrying,  he  would  so  cover 
Prosper  with  shame  and  ignominy  that  no  honest  person  would 
speak  to  him.  He  had  first  thought  of  killing  him,  but  fearing 
that  Madeleine  would  enshrine  and  worship  his  memory,  he  de- 
termined to  disgrace  him. 

He  imagined  that  there  would  be  no  difficulty  in  ruining  the 
unfortunate  young  man.     He  soon  found  himself  mistaken. 

Though  Prosper  led  a  life  of  reckless  dissipation,  he  pre- 
served order  in  his  disorder.  If  in  a  state  of  miserable  en- 
tanglement, and  obliged  to  resort  to  all  sorts  of  make-shifts  to 
escape  his  creditors,  his  caution  prevented  the  world  from 
knowing  it. 

Vainly  did  Eaoul,  with  his  pockets  f 'ill  of  gold,  try  to  tempt 
him  to  play  high;  every  effort  to  hasten  his  ruin  failed. 

When  he  played  he  did  not  seem  to  care  whether  he  lost  or 
won;  nothing  aroused  him  from  his  cold  indifference. 

His  friend  Nina  Gipsy  was  extravagant,  but  her  devotion  to 
Prosper  restrained  her  from  going  beyond  certain  limits. 

Kaoul's  great  intimacy  with  Prosper  enabled  him  to  fully 
understand  the  state  of  his  mind;  that  he  was  trying  to  drown 
his  disappointment  in  excitement,  but  had  not  given  up  all 
hope. 

You  need  not  hope  to  beguile  Prosper  into  committing 
any  piece  of  folly,"  said  Kaoul,  to  his  uncle,  "  his  head  is  as 
eool  as  a  usurer's.     He  ne^er  ^oes  beyond  a  certain  degree  of 


FILE    NO.    113.  303 

disBi'pation.  What  object  he  has  in  view  I  know  not.  Per- 
haps, when  he  has  spent  his  last  napoleon,  he  will  blow  his 
brains  out;  he  certainly  never  will  descend  to  any  dishonorable 
act.  As  to  tampering  with  the  money  safe  intrusted  to  his 
keeping — *' 

We  must  force  him  on,'*  replied  Clameran;  "lead  him 
jnto  extravagances,  make  Gipsy  call  on  him  for  costly  finery, 
iend  him  plenty  of  money." 

Raoul  shook  his  head,  as  if  convinced  that  his  efforts  would 
be  vain. 

"  You  don't  know  Prosper,  uncle;  we  can't  galvanize  a  dead 
man.  Madeleine  killed  him  the  day  she  discarded  him.  He 
takes  no  interest  in  anything  on  the  face  of  the  earth.'' 

**  We  can  wait  and  see." 

They  did  wait;  and,  to  the  great  surprise  of  Mme.  Fauvel, 
Raoul  once  more  became  an  affectionate  and  dutiful  son,  as  he 
tad  been  during  Clameran's  absence.  From  reckless  extrav- 
agance he  changed  to  great  economy.  Under  pretext  of  sav- 
ing money,  he  remained  at  Vesinet,  although  it  was  very  un- 
comfortable and  disagreeable  there  in  the  winter.  He  said  he 
wished  to  expiate  his  sins  in  solitude.  The  truth  was  that,  by 
remaining  in  the  country,  he  insured  his  liberty,  and  escaped 
^is  mother's  visits. 

It  was  about  this  time  that  Mme.  Fauvel,  charmed  with  the 
improvment  in  Raoul,  asked  her  husband  to  give  him  some 
employment  in  the  bank. 

M.  Fauvel  was  delighted  to  please  his  wife,  and  at  once 
offered  Raoul  the  place  of  corresponding  clerk  with  a  salary  of 
five  hundred  francs  a  month. 

The  appointment  pleased  Raoul;  but,  in  obedience'to  Clame- 
ran's command,  he  refused  it,  saying  his  vocation  was  not 
banking. 

This  refusal  so  provoked  the  banker,  that  he  told  Raoul,  if 
he  was  so  idle  and  lazy,  not  to  call  on  him  for  money  again, 
or  expect  him  to  do  anything  to  assist  him.  Raoul  seized  this 
pretext  for  ostensibly  ceasing  his  visits. 

When  he  wanted  to  see  his  mother,  he  would  come  in  the 
afternoon,  when  he  knew  that  M.  Fauvel  would  be  from  home; 
and  he  only  came  often  enough  to  keep  informed  of  what  was 
going  on  in  the  household. 

This  sudden  lull  after  so  many  storms,  appeared  ominous  to 
Madeleine.  She  was  more  certain  than  ever  that  the  plot  was 
now  ripe,  and  would  suddenly  burst  upon  them,  without  warn- 
ing. She  did  not  impart  her  presentiment  to  her  aunt,  but 
prepared  hercelf  f  oi  the  worgt. 


!K)4  FILE    KO.    113. 

"  What  can  they  be  doing?'*  Mme.  Fauvel  would  aayi 
**  can  they  have  ceased  to  persecute  us?'* 

**  Yes;  what  can  they  be  doing?"  Madeleine  would  murmur. 

Louis  and  Eaoul  gave  no  signs  of  life,  because,  like  expert 
hunters,  they  were  silently  hiding  and  watching  for  a  favora- 
ble opportunity  of  pouncing  upon  their  victims. 

Never  losing  sight  of  Prosper  for  a  day,  Eaoul  had  exhaust- 
ed every  effort  of  his  fertile  mind  to  compromise  his  honor,  to 
insnare  him  into  some  inextricable  entanglement.  But,  as  he 
had  foreseen,  the  cashier's  indifference  offered  little  hope  of 
success. 

Clameran  began  to  grow  impatient  at  this  delay,  and  had 
fully  determined  to  bring  matters  to  a  crisis  himself,  when  one 
night,  about  three  o'clock,  he  was  aroused  by  Eaoul. 

He  knew  that  some  event  of  great  importance  must  have 
happened  to  make  his  nephew  come  to  his  house  at  this  hour 
of  the  night. 

"  What  is  the  matter?"  he  anxiously  inquired. 

**  Perhaps  nothing;  perhaps  everything.  I  have  just  left 
Prosper." 

"  Well?" 

"  I  had  him,  Madame  Gipsy,  and  three  other  friends  to  dine 
with  me.  After  dinner,  I  made  up  a  game  of  baccarat,  but 
Prosper  took  no  interest  in  it,  although  he  was  quite  tipsy." 

"  You  must  be  drunk  yourself  to  come  here  waking  me  up 
in  the  middle  of  the  night,  to  hear  this  idle  gabble,"  said 
Louis,  angrily.     "  What  the  devil  do  you  mean  by  it?" 

*'  Now,  don't  be  in  a  hurry;  wait  until  you  hear  the  rest." 

"  Morhleu!  speak  then!" 

"  After  the  game  was  over  we  went  to  supper;  Prosper  be- 
came intoxicated,  and  betrayed  the  secret  name  with  which  he 
closes  the  money  safe. " 

At  these  words  Clameran  uttered  a  cry  of  triumph. 

"  What  was  the  word?" 

"  The  name  of  his  friend." 

"  Gipsy!    Yes,  that  would  be  five  letters." 

Louis  was  so  excited  that  he  jumped  out  of  bed,  slipped  on 
his  dressing-gown,  and  began  to  stride  up  and  down  the 
chamber. 

'*  Now  we  have  got  him!"  he  said,  with  vindictive  satisfac- 
tion. **  There's  no  chance  of  escape  for  him  now?  Ah,  the 
virtuous  cashier  won't  touch  the  money  confided  to  him;  so 
we  must  touch  it  for  him.  The  disgrace  will  be  just  as  great, 
rA  skatter  who  opens  the  safe.  We  have  the  word;  you  know 
irhere  the  key  is  kept. " 


FILE  2sro.  113.  305 

"  Yes;  when  Monsieur  Fauvel  goes  out  he  always  leaves  the 
key  in  the  drawer  of  his  secretary,  in  his  chamber/' 

"  Very  good.  Go  and  get  this  key  from  Madame  Fauvel. 
If  she  does  not  give  it  up  willingly,  use  force;  so  that  you  get 
it,  that  is  the  point;  then  open  the  safe,  and  take  out  every 
franc  it  contains.  Ah,  Master  Bertomy,  you  shall  pay  dear 
for  being  loved  by  the  woman  whom  I  love!'' 

Tor  five  minutes  Clameran  indulged  in  such  a  tirade  of  abuse 
against  Prosper  mingled  with  rhapsodies  of  love  for  Made- 
leine, that  Raoul  thought  him  almost  out  of  his  mind. 

"  IBefore  crying  victory,"  he  said,  "  you  had  better  consider 
the  drawbacks  and  difiiculties.  Prosper  might  change  the 
word  to-morrow." 

"  Yes,  he  might;  but  it  is  not  probable  he  will;  he  will  for- 
get what  he  said  while  drunk;  besides,  we  can  hasten  mat- 
ters. " 

""  That  is  not  all.  Monsieur  Fauvel  has  given  orders  that 
no  large  sums  shall  be  kept  in  the  safe  over  night;  before 
closing  the  bank  everything  is  sent  to  the  Bank  of  France." 

"  A  large  sum  will  be  kept  there  the  night  I  choose." 

"  You  think  so?" 

"  I  think  this:  1  have  a  hundred  thousand  crowns  deposited 

with  Monsieur  Fauvel;  and  if  I  desire  the  money  to  be  paid 

over  to  me  early  some  morning,  directly  the  bank  is  opened, 

of  course  the  money  will  be  kept  in  the  safe  the  previous  night.  '^ 

.  "  A  splendid  idea!"  cried  liaoul,  admiringly. 

It  was  a  good  idea,  and  the  plotters  spent  several  hours  in 
studying  its  strong  and  weak  points. 

Raoul  feared  that  he  would  never  be  able  to  overcome  Mme. 
Fauvel's  resistance.  And,  even  if  she  yielded  the  key,  would 
she  not  go  directly  and  confess  everything  to  her  husband? 
She  was  fond  of  Prosper,  and  would  hesitate  a  long  time  be- 
fore sacrificing  him. 

But  Louis  felt  no  uneasiness  on  this  score. 

"One  sacrifice  necessitates  another,"  he  said;  "she  has 
made  too  many  to  draw  back  at  the  last  one.  She  sacrificed 
her  adopted  daughter;  therefore  she  will  sacrifice  a  young 
man,  who  is,  after  all,  a  comparative  stranger  to  her. " 

"  But  Madeleine  will  never  believe  any  harm  of  Prosper; 
she  will  always  have  faith  in  his  honor,  therefore — " 

"  You  talk  like  an  idiot,  my  verdant  nephew!" 

Before  the  conversation  had  ended,  the  plan  seemed  feasi- 
ble. The  scoundrels  made  all  their  arrangements,  and  fixed 
the  day  for  committing  the  crime. 

They  selected  the  evening  of  the  27th  of  February,  becausf 


806  FILE    NO.    113. 

Raoal  knew  that  M.  Fauvel  would  be  at  a  bank-director's  dhi« 
ner,  and  Madeleine  was  invited  to  a  party  on  that  evening. 

Unless  something  unforeseen  should  occur,  Raoul  knew  that 
he  would  find  Mme.  Fauvel  alone  at  half  past  eight  o'clock. 

"  I  will  ask  Monsieur  Fauvel  this  very  day,"  said  ClamemQ, 
**  to  have  my  money  on  hand  for  Tuesday. " 

*'  That  is  a  very  short  notice,  uncle,"  objected  Raoul. 
**  You  know  there  are  certain  forms  to  be  gone  through,  and 
he  can  claim  a  longer  time  wherein  to  pay  it  over. " 

"  That  is  true,  but  our  banker  is  proud  of  always  being 
prepared  to  pay  any  amount  of  money,  no  matter  how  large; 
and  if  I  say  I  am  pressed  and  would  like  to  be  accommodated 
on  Tuesday,  he  will  make  it  a  point  of  having  it  ready  for  me. 
Now,  you  must  ask  Prosper,  as  a  personal  favor  to  you,  to 
have  the  money  on  hand  at  the  openmg  of  the  bank. " 

Raoul  once  more  examined  the  situation,  to  discover  if  pos^ 
sible  a  grain  of  sand  which  might  be  converted  into  a  mount- 
bin  at  the  last  moment. 

"  Prosper  and  Gipsy  are  to  be  at  Vesinet  this  evening,"  he 
said,  *'  but  I  can  not  ask  them  anything  until  I  know  the 
banker's  answer.  As  soon  as  you  arrange  matters  wi£h  him, 
send  me  word  by  Manuel." 

"  I  can't  send  Manuel,  for  an  excellent  reason;  he  has  left 
me;  but  I  can  send  another  messenger." 

Louis  spoke  the  truth:  Manuel  was  gone.  He  had  insisted 
on  keeping  Gaston's  old  servant  in  his  service,  because  he 
thought  it  imprudent  to  leave  him  at  Oloron,  where  his  goa^ 
eiping  might  cause  trouble. 

He  soon  became  annoyed  by  Manuel's  loyalty,  who  had 
shared  the  perils  and  good  fortunes  of  an  excellent  master  for 
many  years;  and  determined  to  rid  himself  of  this  last  link 
which  constantly  reminded  him  of  Gaston.  The  evening  be- 
fore, he  had  persuaded  Manuel  to  return  to  Arenys-de-mer,  a 
little  port  of  Catalonia,  his  native  place;  and  Louis  was  look- 
ing for  another  servant. 

After  breakfasting  together,  they  separated. 

Clameran  was  so  elated  by  the  prospect  of  success,  that  he 
iost  sight  of  the  great  crime  intervening.  Raoul  was  calm, 
but  resolute.  The  shameful  deed  he  was  about  to  commit 
would  give  him  riches,  and  release  him  from  a  hateful  servi- 
tude.    His  one  thought  was  liberty,  as  Louis's  was  Madeleine. 

Everything  seemed  to  progress  finely.  The  banker  did  not 
ask  for  the  notice  of  time,  but  promised  to  pay  the  money  at 
the  specified  hour.  Prosper  said  that  he  would  have  it  ready 
early  in  the  morning. 


FILE   KO.   113.  307 

The  certainty  of  success  made  Louis  almost  wild  with  joy. 
He  counted  the  hours,  and  the  minutes,  which  passed  but  too 
slowly. 

"  When  this  affair  is  ended/'  he  said  to  Eaoul,  "  I  will  re- 
form, and  be  a  model  of  virtue.  No  one  will  dare  hint  that  I 
ever  indulged  in  any  sins,  great  or  small. " 

But  Raoul  became  more  and  more  sad  as  the  time  ap- 
proached. Eeflection  gradually  betrayed  the  blackness  of  the 
contemplated  crime. 

Eaoul  was  bold  and  determined  in  the  pursuit  of  his  own 
gratifications  and  wickedness;  he  could  smile  in  the  face  of  his 
best  friend,  while  cheating  him  of  his  last  napoloen  at  cards; 
and  he  could  sleep  well  after  stabbing  his  enemy  to  the  heart; 
but  he  was  young. 

He  was  young  in  sin.  Vice  had  not  yet  penetrated  to  his 
marrow-bones;  corruption  had  not  yet  crowded  into  his  soul 
enough  to  uproot  and  destroy  every  generous  sentiment. 

It  had  not  been  so  very  long  since  he  had  cherished  a  few 
holy  beliefs.  The  good  intentions  of  his  boyhood  were  not 
quite  obliterated  from  his  sometimes  reproachful  memory. 

Possessing  the  daring  courage  natural  to  youth,  he  despised 
the  cowardly  part  forced  upon  him;  this  dark  plot,  laid  for  the 
destruction  of  two  helpless  women,  filled  him  with  horror  and 
disgust.  His  heart  revolted  at  the  idea  of  acting  the  part  of 
Judas  toward  his  mother  to  betray  her  between  two  kisses. 

Disgusted  by  the  cool  villainy  of  Louis,  he  longed  for  some 
unexpected  danger  to  spring  up,  some  great  peril  to  be  braved, 
so  as  to  excuse  himself  in  his  own  eyes,  to  give  him  the  spirit 
to  carry  through  the  scheme;  for  he  would  like  to  reap  the 
benefits  without  doing  the  revolting  work. 

But  no;  he  well  knew  that  he  ran  no  risk,  not  even  that  of 
being  arrested  and  sent  to  the  galleys.  For  he  was  certain 
that  if  M.  Fauvel  discovered  everything,  he  would  do  his  best 
to  hush  it  up,  to  conceal  every  fact  connected  with  the  dis- 
graceful story  which  would  implicate  his  wife.  Although  he 
was  careful  not  to  breathe  it  to  Clameran,  he  felt  a  sincere 
affection  for  Mme.  Fauvel,  and  was  touched  by  the  indulgent 
fondness  which  she  so  unchangingly  lavished  upon  him.  He 
had  been  happy  at  Vesinet,  while  his  accomplice,  or  rather  his 
master,  was  at  Oloron.  He  would  have  been  glad  to  lead  an 
honest  life,  and  could  not  see  the  sense  of  committing  a  crime 
where  there  was  no  necessity  for  it.  He  hated  Clameran  for 
not  consenting  to  let  the  matter  drop,  now  that  he  was  rich 
enough  to  live  in  affluence  the  rest  of  his  life,  and  who,  for 
the  sake  of  gratifying  a  selfish  passion  was  abusing  his  power-. 


308  FILE    KO.     113. 

and  endangering' the  safety  and  happiness  of  so  many  people. 
He  longed  for  an  opportunity  of  thwarting  his  plots,  U.  it  could 
be  done  without  also  ruining  himself. 

His  resolution,  which  had  been  so  firm  in  the  beginning, 
was  growing  weaker  and  weaker  as  the  hours  rolled  on;  as  the 
crisis  approached  his  horror  of  the  deed  increased. 

Seeing  this  uncertain  state  of  Raoul's  mind,  Louis  never 
left  him,  but  continued  to  paint  for  him  a  dazzling  *uture, 
position,  wealth,  and  freedom.  Possessing  a  large  fortuK**,  he 
would  be  his  own  master,  gratify  his  every  wish,  and  make 
amends  to  his  mother  for  his  present  undutiful  conduct.  He 
urged  him  to  take  pride  in  acting  his  part  in  this  little  comedy, 
which  would  soon  be  over  without  doing  harm  to  any  one. 

He  prepared,  and  forced  his  accomplice  to  rehearse,  the 
Bcene  which  was  to  be  enacted  at  Mme.  Fauvel's  with  as  much 
coolness  and  precision  as  if  it  were  to  be  performed  at  a  pub- 
lic theater.  Louis  said  that  no  piece  could  be  well  acted 
unless  the  actor  was  interested  and  imbued  with  the  spirit  of 
his  role. 

But  the  more  urgently  Louis  pressed  upon  him  the  advan- 
tages to  be  derived  from  success,  the  of tener  he  sounded  in  his 
ears  the  magic  words  "  five  hundred  thousand  francs,'*  the 
more  loudly  did  Raoul's  conscience  cry  out  against  the  sinful 
deed. 

On  Monday  evening,  aboat  six  o'clock,  Raoul  felt  so  de- 
pressed and  miserable,  that  he  had  almost  made  up  his  mind 
to  refuse  to  move  another  step,  and  to  tell  Louis  that  he  must 
find  another  tool  to  carry  out  his  abominable  plot. 

*'  Are  you  afraid?"  asked  Clameran,  who  had  anxiously 
watched  these  inward  struggles. 

"  Yes,  I  am  afraid.  I  am  not  cursed  with  your  ferocious 
nature  and  iron  will.     I  am  the  most  miserable  dog  living!" 

"  Come,  cheer  up,  my  boy!  You  are  not  yourself  to-day. 
Don't  fail  me  at  the  last  minute,  when  everything  depends 
upon  you.  Just  think  that  we  have  almost  finished;  one 
more  stroke  of  our  oars,  and  we  are  in  port.  You  are  only 
nervous:  come  to  dinner,  and  a  bottle  of  Burgundy  will  soon 
set  you  right. " 

They  were  walking  along  the  boulevard,  Clameran  insisted 
upon  their  entering  a  restaurant,  and  having  dinner  in  a  pri- 
vate room. 

Vainly  did  he  strive,  however,  to  chase  the  gloom  from 
Raoui's  pale  face;  he  sat  listening,  with  a  sullen  frown,  to 
his  friend's  jests  about  "  swallowing  tht-  bitter  pill  grace= 
folly." 


FILE   NO.   113.  309 

Urged  by  Louis,  he  drank  two  bottles  of  wine,  in  hopes 
that  intoxication  would  inspire  him  with  courage  to  do  the 
deed,  which  Olameran  impressed  upon  his  mind  must  and 
should  be  done  before  many  hours  had  passed  over  his  head. 

But  the  drunkenness  he  sought  came  not;  the  wine  proved 
false;  at  the  bottom  of  the  last  bottle  he  found  disgust  and 
rage. 

The  clock  struck  eight. 

"  The  time  has  come,'*  said  Louis,  firmly. 

Raoul  turned  livid;  his  teeth  chattered,  and  his  limbs  trem- 
bled so  that  he  was  unable  to  stand  on  his  feet. 

*'  Oh,  I  can  not  do  it!'*  he  cried  in  an  agony  of  terror  and 
rage. 

Clameran's  eyes  flashed  with  angry  excitement  at  the  pros- 
pect of  all  his  plans  being  ruined  at  the  last  moment.  But  he 
dared  not  give  way  to  his  anger,  for  fear  of  exasperating 
Eaoul,  whom  he  knew  to  be  anxious  for  an  excuse  to  quarrel; 
so  he  quietly  pulled  the  bell-rope.     A  boy  appeared. 

*'  A  bottle  of  port,''  he  said,  "  and  a  bottle  of  rum,*' 

When  the  boy  returned  with  the  bottles,  Louis  filled  the 
goblet  with  the  two  liquors  mixed,  and  handed  it  to  Eaoul. 

"  Drink  this!*'  he  said,  in  a  tone  of  command. 

Raoul  emptied  the  glass  at  one  draught,  and  a  faint  color 
returned  to  his  ashy  cheek.  He  arose,  and,  snatching  up  his 
hat,  cried,  fiercely: 

"  Come  along!" 

But  before  he  had  walked  half  a  square,  the  factitious 
energy  inspired  by  drink  deserted  him. 

He  clung  to  Clameran's  arm,  and  was  almost  dragged 
along  in  the  direction  of  the  banker's  house,  trembling  like  a 
criminal  on  his  way  to  the  scaffold. 

*'  If  I  can  once  get  him  in  the  house,"  thought  Louis, 
*'  and  make  him  begin,  the  excitement  of  his  mother's  op- 
position will  make  him  carry  it  through  successfully.  The 
cowardly  baby!     I  would  like  to  wring  his  necli!" 

Although  his  breast  was  filled  with  these  thoughts  and  fears, 
he  was  careful  to  conceal  them  from  Eaoul,  and  said,  sooth- 
ingly: 

"  Now,  don't  forget  our  arrangement,  and  be  careful  hov7 
you  enter  the  house;  everything  depends  upon  your  being  un- 
concerned and  cool,  to  avoid  arousing  suspicion  in  the  eyes  of 
any  one  you  may  meet.     Have  you  a  pistol  in  your  pocket?" 
Yes,  yes,  let  me  alone!" 

It  was  wdi  that  Olameran  bad  accompanied  Eaoul;  for 


310  ITLB    SO.    113. 

when  he  got  in  sight  of  the  door,  his  courage  gave  way,  and 
he  longed  to  retreat. 

*'  A  poor,  helpless  woman!*'  he  groaned,  *'  and  an  honest 
man  who  pressed  my  hand  in  friendship  yesterday,  to  be  cow- 
ardly ruined,  betrayed  by  me!    Ah,  it  is  too  base,  1  can  not!" 

"  Come,  don't  be  a  coward!  I  thought  you  had  mora 
nerve.  Why,  you  might  as  well  have  remained  virtuous  and 
honest;  you  will  never  cam  your  salt  in  this  sort  of  business." 

Raoul  overcame  his  weakness,  and,  silencing  the  clamors  of 
his  conscience,  rushed  up  the  steps,  and  pulled  the  bell 
furiously. 

"  Is  Madame  Fauvel  at  home?"  he  inquired  of  the  servant 
who  opened  the  door. 

"  Madame  is  alone  in  the  sitting-room  adjoining  her  cham- 
ber,'* was  the  reply. 

Raoul  went  upstairs. 


CHAPTER  XX. 

Clameran's  last  injunction  to  Raoul  was: 

**  Be  very  cautious  when  you  enter  the  room;  your  appear- 
ance must  tell  everything,  so  you  can  avoid  preliminary  ex- 
planations." - — 

The  recommendation  was  useless. 

The  instant  that  Raoul  went  into  the  little  salon,  the  sight 
of  his  pale,  haggard  face  and  wild  eyes  caused  Mme.  Fauvel  to 
spring  up  with  clasped  hands,  and  ciy  out: 

'*  Raoul,  what  has  happened?    Speak,  my  son!" 

The  sound  of  her  tender,  affectionate  voice  acted  like  an 
electric  shock  upon  the  young  bandit.  He  shook  like  a  leaf. 
But,  at  the  same  time,  his  mind  seemed  to  change.  Louis 
was  not  mistaken  in  his  estimate  of  his  companion's  character. 
Raoul  was  on  the  stage;  his  part  was  to  be  played;  his  assur- 
ance returned  to  him;  his  cheating,  lying  nature  assumed  the 
ascendant,  and  stifled  any  better  feeling  in  his  heart. 

"  This  misfortune  is  the  last  I  shall  ever  suffer,  mother!" 

Mme.  Fauvel  rushed  toward  him,  and,  seizing  his  hand, 
gazed  searchingly  into  his  eyes,  as  if  to  read  his  very  soul. 

"  What  is  the  matter?  Raoul,  my  dear  son,  do  tell  me 
what  troubles  you. ' ' 

He  gently  pushed  her  from  him. 

*'  The  matter  is,  my  mother,"  he  said,  in  a  voice  of  heart- 
broken despair,  *'  that  I  am  an  unworthy,  degenerate  son! 
Unworthy  of  you,  unworthy  of  my  noble  father!" 

She  tried  to  comfort  him  bv  saying  that  his  errors  were  9^ 


FILE    NO.    lia  311 

her  fault,  and  that  he  was,  in  spite  of  all,  the  pride  jf  her 
heart. 

"  Alas!'*  he  said,  '*  I  know  and  judge  myself.  No  one  can 
reproach  me  for  my  infamous  conduct  more  bitterly  than  does 
my  own  conscieuce.  I  am  not  naturally  wicked,  but  only  a 
miserable  fool.  At  times  I  am  like  an  insane  man,  and  am 
not  responsible  for  ray  actions.  Ah,  my  dear  mother,  I  would 
not  be  what  I  am,  if  you  had  watched  over  my  childhood. 
But  brought  up  among  strangers,  with  no  guide  but  my  own 
evil  passions,  nothing  to  restrain  me,  no  one  to  advise  me, 
no -one  to  love  me,  owning  nothing,  not  even  my  stolen  name, 
I  am  cursed  with  vanity  and  unbounded  ambition.  Poor,  with 
no  one  to  assist  me  but  you,  I  have  the  tastes  and  vices  of  a 
millionaire's  son. 

"Alas  for  me!  When  I  found  you,  the  evil  was  done. 
Your  affection,  your  maternal  love,  the  only  true  happiness 
of  my  life,  could  not  save  me.  I,  who  had  suffered  so  much, 
endured  so  many  privations,  even  the  pangs  of  hunger,  be- 
came spoiled  by  this  new  life  of  luxury  and  pleasure  which 
you  opened  before  me.  I  rushed  headlong  into  extravagance, 
as  a  drunkard  long  deprived  of  liquor  seizes  and  drains  to  the 
dregs  the  first  bottle  in  his  reach.'* 

Mme.  Fauvel  listened,  silent  and  terrified,  to  these  words  of 
despair  and  remorse,  which  Eaoul  uttered  with  vehemence. 

She  dared  not  interrupt  him,  but  felt  certain  some  dreadful 
piece  of  news  was  coming. 

Kaoul  continued  in  a  sad,  hopeless  tone: 

"  Yes;  I  have  been  a  weak  fool.  Happiness  was  within 
my  reach,  and  I  had  not  the  sense  to  stretch  forth  my  hand 
and  grasp  it.  I  rejected  a  heavenly  reality  to  eagerly  pursue 
a  vain  phantom.  I,  who  ought  to  have  spent  my  life  at  your 
feet,  and  daily  striven  to  express  my  gratitude  for  your  lav- 
ished kindness,  have  made  you  unhappy,  destroyed  your  peaco 
of  mind,  and  instead  of  being  a  blessing,  I  have  been  a  curse 
ever  since  the  first  fatal  day  you  welcomed  me  to  your  kind 
heart.  Ah,  unfeeling  brute  that  I  was,  to  squander  upon 
creatures  whom  I  despised,  a  fortune,  of  which  each  gold  piece 
must  have  cost  you  a  tear!  Too  late,  too  late!  With  you  I 
might  have  been  a  good  and  happy  man!" 

He  stopped,  as  if  overcome  by  the  conviction  of  his  evil 
deeds,  and  seemed  about  to  burst  into  tears. 

"  It  is  never  too  late  to  repent,  my  son,"  murmured  Mme. 
Fauvel,  m  comforting  tones. 

''^Ah,  if  I  only  could!"  cried  Eaoul;  "but  no,  it  is  too 
late!    Besides,  can  I  tell  how^  long  my  good  resolutions  wiU 


513  ^ILE    NO.    115. 

last?  This  is  not  the  first  time  that  I  have  condemned  my 
self  pitilessly.  Stinging  remorse  for  each  new  fault  made  m« 
swear  to  lead  a  better  life,  to  sin  no  more.  What  was  the  re- 
sult of  these  periodical  repentances!  At  the  first  temptation 
I  forgot  my  remorse  and  good  resolutions.  I  am  weak  and 
mean-spirited,  and  you  are  not  firm  enough  to  gorern  my 
vacillating  nature.  While  my  intentions  are  good,  my  actiona 
are  villainous.  The  disproportion  between  my  extravagant 
desires,  and  the  means  of  gratifying  them,  is  too  great  for  me 
to  endure  any  longer.  Who  knows  to  what  fearful  lengths  my 
unfortunate  disposition  may  lead  me?  However,  I  will  take 
my  fate  in  my  own  hands!'*  he  finally  said,  with  a  reckless 
laugh. 

"  Oh,  Raoul!  my  dear  son!"  cried  Mme.  Fauvel,  in  an 
agony  of  terror,  "  explain  these  dreadful  words;  am  I  not 
your  mother?  Tell  me  what  distresses  you;  I  am  ready  to 
hear  the  worst." 

He  appeared  to  hesitate,  as  if  afraid  to  crush  his  mother's 
heart  by  the  terrible  blow  he  was  about  to  inflict.  Then  in 
a  voice  of  gloomy  despair  he  replied: 

"  I  am  ruined!*' 

"  Euined?" 

"  Yes,  ruined;  and  I  have  nothing  more  to  expect  or  hope 
for.  I  am  dishonored,  and  all  through  my  own  fault;  no 
one  is  to  blame  but  myself." 

"  Raoul!" 

*'  It  is  the  sad  truth,  my  poor  mother;  but  fear  nothing;  I 
shall  not  trail  in  the  dust  the  name  which  you  bestowed  upon 
me.  I  will  at  least  have  the  courage  not  to  survive  my  dis- 
honor. Come,  mother,  don't  pity  me,  or  distress  yourself; 
I  am  one  of  those  miserable  beings  fated  to  find  no  peace  save 
in  the  arms  of  death.  I  came  into  the  world  with  misfortune 
stamped  upon  my  brow.  Was  not  my  birth  a  shame  and 
disgrace  to  you?  Did  not  the  memory  of  my  existence  haunt 
you  day  and  night,  filling  your  soul  with  remorse?  And 
now,  when  I  am  restored  to  you  after  many  years'  separation, 
do  I  not  prove  to  be  a  bitter  curse  instead  of  a  blessing?" 

*'  Ungrateful  boy!    Have  I  ever  reproached  you?" 

**  Never!  Your  poor  Eaoul  will  die  with  your  beloved 
name  on  his  lips;  his  last  words  a  prayer  to  Heaven  to  heap 
blessings  upon  your  head,  and  reward  your  long-suffering  de* 
Totion." 

"  Die?    You  die,  my  son!" 

"  It  must  be,  my  dear  mother;  honor  <\ompels  it     I  am 


FILE    NO.    113.  313 

condemned  by  Judges  from  whose  decision  no  appeal  can  be 
taken — ^my  conscience  and  my  will/' 

An  hour  ago,  Mme.  Fauvel  would  have  sworn  that  Eaoul 
had  made  her  suffer  all  the  torments  that  a  woman  could 
endure;  but  now  she  felt  that  all  her  former  troubles  were 
nothing  compared  with  her  present  agony. 

"  My  God!  Raoul,  what  have  you  been  doing?'*  she  gasped. 

*'  Money  was  intrusted  to  me;  I  gambled,  and  lost  it.'' 

"  Was  it  a  large  sum?" 

*'  No;  but  more  than  you  can  replace.  My  poor  mother, 
have  I  not  taken  everything  from  you?  Did  you  not  give 
me  your  last  jewel?' ' 

"  But  Monsieur  de  Clameran  is  rich.  He  placed  his  fort- 
une at  my  disposal.    I  will  order  the  carriage,  and  go  to  him. " 

"  But  Monsieur  de  Clameran  is  absent,  and  will  not  return 
to  Paris  until  next  week;  and  if  I  do  not  have  the  money  this 
evening  I  am  lost.  Alas!  I  have  thought  deeply,  and, 
although  it  is  hard  to  die  so  young,  still  fate  wills  it  so." 

He  pulled  a  pistol  from  his  pocket,  and,  with  a  forced 
smile,  said: 

"  This  will  settle  everything." 

Mme.  Fauvel  was  too  excited  and  frightened  to  reflect  upon 
the  horror  of  Raoul's  behavior,  and  that  these  wild  threats 
were  a  last  resort  for  obtaining  money.  Forgetful  of  the  past, 
careless  of  the  future,  her  every  thought  concentrated  upon 
the  present,  she  comprehended  but  one  fact — that  her  son  was 
about  to  commit  suicide,  and  that  she  was  powerless  to  pre- 
vent the  fearful  deed. 

"Ah,  wait  a  little  while,  my  son!"  she  cried.  "Andre 
will  soon  return  home,  and  I  will  ask  him  to  give  me —  How 
much  did  you  lose?" 

"  Thirty  thousand  francs." 

"  You  shall  have  them  to-morrow." 

"  But  I  must  have  the  money  to-night.-" 

Mme.  Fauvel  wrung  her  hands  in  despair. 

*'  Oh!  why  did  you  not  come  to  me  sooner,  my  son?  "Why 
did  you  not  have  confidence  enough  in  me  to  come  at  once 
for  help?  This  evening?  There  is  no  one  in  the  house  to 
open  the  money  safe;  if  it  were  not  for  that — if  you  had  only 
come  before  Andre  went  out — " 

*'  The  safe!"  cried  Eaoul  with  sudden  joy,  as  if  this  magio 
word  had  thrown  a  ray  of  light  upon  his  dark  despair:  "do 
you  know  vhere  the  key  is  kept?" 
_  "  Yeo;  it  is  in  the  next  rooi}i." 


314  PILE    NO.    118. 

*'  Well!"  he  exclaimed,  with  a  bold  look  that  caused  MmCk 
Fauvel  to  lower  h»r  eyes  and  keep  silent. 

**  Give  me  the  key,  mother,*'  he  said  m  a  tone  of  entreaty. 

"Oh,  Eaoul,  Eaoul!^' 

*'  It  is  my  life  I  am  asking  of  you." 

These  words  decided  her;  she  snatched  up  a  candle,  rushed 
into  her  chamber,  opened  the  secretary,  and  took  out  M. 
Fauvers  key. 

But,  when  about  to  hand  it  to  Raoul,  she  seemed  suddenly 
to  see  the  enormity  of  what  she  was  doing. 

"Oh,  Eaoul!  my  son,"  she  murmured,  '* I  can  not!  Do 
not  ask  me  to  commit  such  a  dreadful  deed!" 

He  said  nothing,  but  sadly  turned  to  leave  the  room:  then 
coming  back  to  his  mother,  said: 

"  Ah,  well;  it  makes  but  little  difference  in  the  end!  At 
least  you  will  give  me  one  last  kiss,  before  we  part  forever, 
my  darling  mother!'* 

"  What  could  you  do  with  the  key,  Eaoul?"  interrupted 
Mme.  Fauvel.  *'  You  do  not  know  the  secret  word  of  the 
buttons. " 

"No;  but  I  can  try  to  open  it  without  moving  the  buttons.  *' 

"  You  know  that  money  is  never  kept  in  the  safe  over 
night." 

"  Nevertheless  I  can  make  the  attempt.  If  I  open  the 
safe,  and  find  money  in  it,  it  will  be  a  miracle,  showing  that 
Heaven  has  pitied  my  misfortunes  and  provided  relief." 

"  And,  if  you  are  not  successful,  will  you  promise  me  to 
wait  until  to-morrow,  to  do  nothing  rash  to-night?" 

"  I  will  swear  it,  by  my  father's  memory." 

"  Then  take  the  key  and  follow  me." 

Pale  and  trembling,  Eaoul  and  Mme.  Fauvel  passed  through 
the  banker's  study,  and  down  the  narrow  staircase  leading  to 
the  offices  and  cash-room  below. 

Eaoul  walked  in  front,  holding  the  light,  and  the  key  of 
the  safe. 

Mme.  Fauvel  was  convinced  that  it  would  be  utterly  impos- 
sible to  open  the  safe,  as  the  key  was  useless  without  the 
secret  word,  and  of  course  Eaoul  had  no  way  of  discovering 
what  that  was. 

Even  granting  that  some  chance  had  revealed  the  secret  to 
him,  he  would  find  but  little  in  the  safe,  since  everything  was 
deposited  in  the  Bank  of  France.  Every  one  knew  that  no 
large  sum  was  ever  kept  in  the  safe  after  banking  hours.' 

The  only  anxiety  she  felt  was,  how  Eaoul  would  bear  the 
disappointment,  how  she  eould  calm  his  despau. 


FILE    NO.    113.  313 

She  thought  that  she  would  gain  time  by  letting  Raoul  try 
the  key;  and  then,  when  he  could  not  open  the  safe  he  would 
keep  his  promise,  and  wait  until  the  next  day.  There  was 
surely  no  harm  in  letting  him  try  the  lock  when  he  could 
not  touch  the  money. 

"  When  he  sedB  there  is  no  chance  of  success,"  she  thought, 
"he  will  listen  to  my  entreaties;  and  to-morrow — to-mor- 
row— '* 

What  she  would  do  to-morrow  she  knew  not,  she  did  not 
even  ask  herself.  But  in  extreme  situations  the  least  delay 
inspires  hope,  as  if  a  short  respite  meant  sure  salvation. 

The  condemned  man,  at  the  last  moment,  begs  for  a  re- 
prieve of  a  day,  an  hour,  a  few  seconds.  Eaoul  was  about  to 
kill  himself:  his  mother  prayed  to  God  to  grant  her  one  day, 
not  even  a  day,  one  night;  as  if  in  this  space  of  time  some  un- 
expected relief  would  come  to  end  her  misery. 

They  reached  Prosper' s  office,  and  Eaoul  placed  the  light 
on  a  high  stool  so  that  it  lighted  the  whole  room. 

He  then  summoned  up  all  his  coolness,  or  rather  that 
mechanical  precision  of  movement,  almost  independent  of 
will,  of  which  men  accustomed  to  peril  avail  themselves  in 
time  of  need. 

Eapidly,  with  the  dexterity  of  experience,  he  slipped  the 
buttons  on  the  five  letters  composing  the  name  of  G,  i,  p,  s,  y. 

His  features  during  this  short  operation,  expressed  the 
most  intense  anxiety.  He  was  fearful  that  his  nervous  energy 
might  give  out;  of  not  being  able  to  open  the  safe;  of  not  find- 
ing the  money  there  when  he  opened  ifc;  of  Prosper  having 
changed  the  word;  or  perhaps  having  neglected  to  leave  the 
money  in  the  safe. 

Mme.  Fauvel  saw  these  visible  apprehensions  with  alarm. 
She  read  in  his  eyes  that  wild  hope  of  a  man  who,  passionately 
desiring  an  object,  ends  by  persuading  himself  that  his  own 
will  suffices  to  overcome  all  obstacles. 

Having  often  been  present  when  Prosper  was  preparmg  to 
leave  his  office,  Eaoul  had  fifty  times  seen  him  move  the  but- 
tons, and  lock  the  safe,  just  before  leaving  the  bank.  Indeed, 
having  a  practical  turn  of  mind,  and  an  eye  to  the  future,  he 
had  even  tried  to  lock  the  safe  himself  on  several  occasions 
while  waiting  for  Prosper. 

He  inserted  the  key  softly,  turned  it  round;  pushed  it  fur- 
ther in,  and  turned  it  a  second  time;  then  thrust  it  in  sud- 
denly, and  turned  it  again.  His  keart  beat  so  loudljr  thaS 
Mme.  Fauvel  could  hear  its  throbs. 

The  word  had  not  been  chansfed;  the  safe  opened. 


flier  iiLE  NO.  113. 

Eaoal  and  his  mother  simultaneously  uttered  a  cry;  she  o| 
terror,  he  of  triumph. 

"Shut  it  again i  cried  Mme.  Fauvei,  frightened  at  th« 
incomprehensible  result  of  Raoul's  attempt:  "  come  away. 
Don't  touch  anything,  for  Heaven's  sake!  Raoul!" 

And,  half  frenzied,  she  clung  to  Raoul's'arm,  and  pulled 
him  away  so  abruptly,  that  the  key  was  dragged  from  the 
lock,  and,  slipping  along  the  glossy  varnish  of  the  safe-door, 
made  a  deep  scratch  some  inches  long. 

But  at  a  glance  Raoul  discovered,  on  the  upper  shelf  of 
the  safe,  four  bundles  of  bank-notes.  He  snatched  them  up 
with  his  left  hand,  and  slipped  them  inside  his  vest. 

Exhausted  by  the  effort  she  had  just  made,  Mme.  Fauvel 
dropped  Raoul's  arm,  and,  almost  fainting  with  emotion, 
clung  to  the  back  of  a  chair. 

"Have  mercy,  Raoul!"  she  moaned.  "I  implore  you  to 
put  back  that  money,  and  I  solemnly  swear  that  I  will  give 
you  twice  as  much  to-morrow.  Oh,  my  son,  have  pity  upou 
your  unhappy  mother!" 

He  paid  no  attention  to  these  words  of  entreaty,  but  care- 
fully examined  the  scratch  on  the  safe.  He  was  almost 
alarmed  at  this  trace  of  the  robbery,  which  it  was  impossible 
for  him  to  cover  up. 

*'  At  least  you  will  not  take  all,*'  said  Mme.  Fauvel;  "just 
keep  enough  to  save  yourself,  and  put  back  the  rest." 

What  good  would  that  do?  The  discovery  will  be  made 
that  the  safe  has  been  opened;  so  I  might  as  well  take  all  as  a 
part." 

"  Oh,  no!  not  at  all.  I  can  account  to  Andre;  I  will  tell 
him  I  had  a  pressing  need  for  a  certain  sum,  and  opened  the 
safe  to  get  it. " 

In  the  meantime  Raoul  had  carefully  closed  the  safe. 

"  Come,  mother,  let  us  go  back  to  the  sitting-room.  A 
servant  might  go  there  to  look  for  you,  and  be  astonished  at 
our  absence." 

Raoul's  cruel  indifference  and  cold  calculation  at  such  a 
moment  filled  Mme.  Fauvel  with  indignation.  She  saw  that 
she  had  no  influence  over  her  son,  that  her  prayers  and  tears 
had  no  effect  upon  his  hard  heart. 

"  Let  them  be  astonished,"  she  cried:  "  let  them  come 
here  and  find  us!  I  will  be  relieved  to  put  an  end  to  this 
tissue  of  crime.  Then  Andre  will  know  all,  and  drive  me 
from  his  house.  Let  come  what  will,  I  shall  not  sacrifice 
another  victim.  Prosper  will  be  accused  of  this  theft  to- 
morrow.    Olameran  defrauded  him  of  the  woman  he  loved< 


ftLE    NO.    113.  31? 

and  now  yon  would  deprive  him  of  his  honor!  I  will  have 
nothing  to  do  with  so  base  a  crime.*' 

She  spoke  so  loud  and  angrily  that  Raoul  was  alarmed. 
He  knew  that  the  errand-boy  slept  in  a  room  close  by,  and 
might  be  in  bed  listening  to  her,  although  it  was  early  in  the 
evening. 

"  Come  upstairs!'*  he  said,  seizing  Mme.  Eauvel's  arm. 

But  she  clung  to  a  table,  and  refused  to  move  a  step. 

"  I  have  been  cowardly  enough  to  sacrifice  Madeleine,*' 
she  said,  "  but  I  will  not  ruin  Prosper.** 

Raoul  had  an  argument  in  reserve  which  he  knew  would 
make  Mme.  Fauvel  submit  to  his  will. 

*' Now,  really,** Jie  said,  with  a  cynical  laugh,  "do  you 
pretend  that  you  do  not  know  Prosper  and  I  arranged  this  lit- 
tle affair  together,  and  that  he  is  to  have  half  the  booty?'* 

"Impossible!  I  will  never  believe  such  a  thing  of  Pros- 
per!*' 

"  Why,  how  do  you  suppose  I  discovered  the  secret  word? 
Who  do  yon  suppose  disobeyed  orders  and  left  the  money  in 
the  safe?" 

"  Prosper  is  honest." 

*'  Of  course  he  is,  and  so  am  I  too.  The  only  thing  is  that 
we  both  need  money." 

"  You  are  telling  a  falsehood,  Raoul!" 

*'  Upon  my  soul,  I  am  not.  Madeleine  rejected  Prosper, 
and  the  poor  fellow  has  to  console  himself  for  her  cruelty; 
and  these  sorts  of  consolations  are  expensive,  my  good 
mother.  ** 

He  took  up  the  candle,  and  gently  but  firmly  led  Mme. 
Fauvel  toward  the  staircase. 

She  mechanically  suffered  herself  to  be  led  along,  more  be- 
wildered by  what  she  had  just  heard,  than  she  was  at  the 
opening  of  the  safe  door. 

"  What!"  she  gasped,  **  can  Prosper  be  a  thief?*' 

She  began  to  think  herself  the  victim  of  a  terrible  night- 
mare, and  that,  when  she  waked,  her  mind  would  be  relieved 
of  this  intolerable  torture.  She  helplessly  clung  to  Raoul'a 
arm  as  he  helped  her  up  the  narrow  little  staircase. 

"  You  must  put  the  key  back  in  the  secretary,"  said  Raoul, 
as  soon  as  they  were  in  the  chamber  again. 

But  she  did  not  seem  to  hear  him;  so  he  went  and  replaced 
the  safe-key  in  the  place  from  which  he  had  seen  her  take  it. 

He  then  led,  or  rather  carried,  Mme.  Fauvel  into  the  little 
iitting-room,  and  placed  her  in  an  easy-chair. 

The  set,  expressionless  look  of  the  wretched  woman's  eye^ 


818  FILE    NO.    113. 

and  her  dazed  manner,  frightened  Raoul,  who  thought  that 
she  had  lost  her  mind,  that  her  reason  had  finally  given  way 
beneath  this  last  terrible  shock. 

"Come,  cheer  up,  my  dear  mother/' he  said,  in  coaxing 
tones,  as  he  rubbed  her  icy  hands;  "  you  have  saved  my  life, 
and  rendered  an  immense  service  to  Prosper.  Don't  be 
alarmed ;  everything  will  come  out  right  in  the  end.  Prosper 
will  be  accused,  perhaps  arrested :  he  expects  that,  and  is  pre- 
pared for  it;  he  will  deny  his  culpability;  and,  as  there  is  no 
proof  against  him,  he  will  be  set  at  liberty  immediately.'* 

But  these  falsehoods  were  wasted  on  Mme.  Fauvel,  who 
was  incapable  of  understanding  anything  said  to  her. 

"  Raoul,"  she  moaned,  in  a  broken-hearted  tone.  '*  Eaoul, 
my  son,  you  have  killed  me." 

Her  gentle  voice,  kind  even  in  its  despairing  accents,  touched 
the  very  bottom  of  Eaoul's  perverted  heart,  and  once  more 
his  soul  was  wrung  by  remorse;  so  that  he  felt  inclined  to  put 
back  the  stolen  money,  and  comfort  the  despairing  woman 
whose  life  and  reason  he  was  destroying.  The  thought  of 
Clameran  restrained  him. 

Finding  his  efforts  to  restore  Mme.  Fauvel  fruitless;  that, 
in  spite  of  all  his  affectionate  regrets  and  promises,  she  still 
sat  silent,  motionless,  and  death-like;  and  fearing  that  M. 
Fauvel  or  Madeleine  might  enter  at  any  moment,  and  demand, 
an  explanation — he  hastily  pressed  a  kiss  upon  his  mother's 
brow,  and  hurried  from  the  house. 

At  the  restaurant  in  the  room  where  they  had  dined,  Clame- 
ran, tortured  by  anxiety,  awaited  his  accomplice. 

He  wondered  if  at  the  last  moment,  when  he  was  not  near 
to  sustain  him,  Eaoul  would  prove  a  coward,  and  retreat;  if 
any  unforeseen  trifle  had  prevented  his  finding  the  key;  if  any 
visitors  were  there;  and,  if  so,  would  they  depart  before  M. 
Fauvel's  return  from  the  dinner-party? 

He  had  worked  himself  into  such  a  state  of  excitement, 
that,  when  Raoul  returned  he  flew  to  him  with  ashy  face  and 
trembling  all  over,  and  could  scarcely  gasp  out: 

"  Well?'' 

"  The  deed  is  done,  uncle,  thanks  to  you;  and  I  am  now 
the  most  miserable^  abject  villain  on  the  face  of  the  earth. " 

He  unbuttoned  his  vest  and,  pulling  out  the  four  bundles 
of  bank-notes,  angrily  dashed  them  upon  the  table,  saying  in  a 
tone  of  scorn  and  disgust: 

"  Now  I  hope  you  are  satisfied.  This  is  the  price  of  the 
happiness,  honor,  and  perhaps  the  life,  of  thr^e  people." 

Clameran  paid  no  attention  to  these  angry  woi-ds.     With 


FILE    NO.    113.  319 

feverisli  eagerness  he  seized  the  notes,  and  rattled  them  in  his 
hand  as  if  to  convince  himself  of  the  reality  of  success. 

"  Now  Madeleine  is  mine!'*  he  cried,  excitedly. 

Eaoul  looked  at  Clameran,  in  silent  disgust.  This  exhibition 
of  joy  was  a  shocking  contrast  to  the  scene  in  which  he  had 
just  been  an  actor.  He  was  humiliated  at  being  the  tool  of 
Buch  a  heartless  scoundrel  as  he  now  knew  Clameran  to  be. 

Louis  misinterpreted  this  silence,  and  said  gayly: 

"  Did  you  have  much  difficulty?** 

"  I  forbid  you  ever  to  allude  to  this  evening's  work,**  cried 
Eaoul,  fiercely.     "Do  you  hear  me?     I  wish  to  forget  it.** 

Clameran  shrugged  his  shoulders  at  this  outburst  of  anger, 
and  said  in  a  bantering  tone: 

"  Just  as  you  please,  my  handsome  nephew:  I  rather  think 
you  will  want  to  remember  it  though,  when  I  offer  you  these 
three  hundred  and  fifty  thousand  francs.  You  will  not,  I 
am  sure,  refuse  to  accept  them  as  a  slight  souvenir.  Take 
them:  they  are  yours.** 

This  generosity  seemed  neither  to  surprise  nor  satisfy  Eaoul. 

"  According  to  our  agreement,**  he  said,  sullenly,  "  I  was 
to  have  more  than  this.'* 

"  Of  course:  this  is  only  part  of  your  share.** 

*'  And  when  am  I  to  have  the  rest,  if  you  please?** 

"  The  day  I  marry  Madeleine,  and  not  before,  my  boy. 
You  are  too  valuable  an  assistant  to  lose  at  present;  and  you 
know  that,  though  I  don't  distrust  you,  I  am  not  altogether 
sure  of  your  sincere  affection  for  me.** 

Eaoul  reflected  that  to  commit  a  crime,  and  not  profit  by 
it,  would  be  the  height  of  absurdity.  He  had  come  with  the 
intention  of  breaking  off  all  connection  with  Clameran;  but 
he  now  determined  that  he  would  not  abandon  his  accomplice 
until  he  had  been  well  paid  for  his  services. 

"  Very  well,'*  he  said,  *'  I  accept  this  on  account;  but  re- 
member, I  will  never  do  another  piece  of  work  like  this  of  to- 
night.    You  can  do  what  you  please;  I  shall  flatly  refuse.** 

Clameran  burst  into  a  loud  laugh,  and  said : 

"  That  is  sensible;  now  that  you  are  rich,  you  can  afford  to 
be  honest.  Set  your  conscience  at  rest,  for  I  promise  you  I 
will  require  nothing  more  of  you  save  a  few  trifling  services. 
You  can  retire  behind  the  scenes  now,  while  I  appear  upo« 
the  stage:  my  r61e  begins.** 


820  FILE    NO.    115. 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

For  more  than  an  hour  after  Raoul*8  departure,  Mme.  Pan 
rel  remained  in  a  state  of  stupor  bordering  upon  unconscious- 
ness. 

Gradually,  however,  she  recovered  her  senses  sufficiently  to 
comprehend  the  horrors  of  her  present  situation;  and,  with 
the  faculty  of  thought  that  of  suffering  returned. 

The  dreadful  scene  in  which  she  had  taken  part  was  still  be- 
fore her  affrighted,  vision;  all  the  attending  circumstances,  un- 
noticed at  the  time,  now  struck  her  forcibly. 

She  saw  that  she  had.  been  the  dupe  of  a  shameful  con- 
spiracy; that  Eaoul  had  tortured  her  with  cold-blooded 
cruelty,  had  taken  advantage  of  her  tenderness,  and  had  spec- 
ulated upon  her  fright. 

But  had  Prosper  anything  to  do  with  the  robbery?  This 
Mme.  Fauvel  had  no  way  of  finding  out.  Ah!  Raoul  knew 
how  the  blow  would  strike  when  he  accused  Prosper.  He 
knew  that  Mme.  Fauvel  would  end  by  believing  in  the  cashier's 
complicity. 

The  unhappy  woman  .  sat  and  thought  over  every  possible 
way  in  which  Raoul  could  find  out  the  secret  word  without 
Prosper's  knowledge.  She  rejected  with  horror  the  idea  that 
the  cashier  was  the  instigator  of  the  crime;  but  in  spite  of  her- 
self, it  constantly  recurred.  And  finally  she  felt  convinced 
that  what  Raoul  said  must  be  true;  for  who  but  Prosper  could 
have  betrayed  the  word?  and  who  but  Prosper  could  have 
left  so  large  an  amount  of  money  in  the  safe,  which,  by  order 
of  the  banker,  was  to  be  always  left  empty  at  night? 

Knowing  that  Prosper  was  leading  a  life  of  extravagance 
and  dissipation,  she  thought  it  very  likely  he  had,  from  sheer 
desperation,  resorted  to  this  bold  step  to  pay  his  debts;  her 
blind  affection,  moreover,  made  her  anxious  to  attribute  the 
crime  to  an}'  one  rather  than  to  her  darling  son. 

She  had  heard  that  Prosper  was  supporting  one  of  those 
worthless  creatures  whose  extravagance  impoverishes  men,  and 
whose  evil  influence  perverts  their  natures.  When  a  young 
man  is  thus  degraded,  will  he  stop  at  any  sin  or  crime?  AlasI 
Mme.  Fauvel  knew,  from  her  own  sad  experience,  to  what 
depths  even  one  fault  can  lead.  Although  she  believed  Pros- 
per guilty,  she  did  not  blame  him,  but  considered  herself  re 
sponsible  for  his  sina. 


FILE    NO.    113.  321 

Had  she  not  herself  banished  the  poor  young  man  from  a 
fireside  which  he  had  begun  to  regard  as  his  own?  Had  she 
not  destroyed  his  hopes  of  happiness  by  crushing  his  pure  love 
for  a  noble  girl,  whom  he  looked  upon  as  his  future  wife,  and 
thus  driven  him  into  a  life  of  dissipation  and  sin? 

She  was  undecided  whether  to  confide  in  Madeleine  or  bury 
the  secret  in  her  own  breast. 
Patally  inspired,  she  decided  to  keep  silent. 
When  Madeleine  returned  home  at  eleven  o'clock,  Mme. 
Fauvel  not  only  was  silent  as  to  what  had  occurred,  but  even 
succeeded  in  so  concealing  all  traces  of  her  agitation,  that  she 
escaped  any  questions  from  her  niece. 

Her  calmness  never  left  her  when  M.  Fauvel  and  Lucien  re- 
turned, although  she  was  in  terror  lest  her  husband  should 
go  down  to  the  cash-room  to  see  that  everything  was  safely 
locked  up.  It  was  not  his  habit  to  open  the  money  safe  at 
nght,  but  he  sometimes  did  so. 

As  fate  would  have  it,  the  banker,  as  soon  as  he  entered  the 
room,  began  to  speak  of  Prosper,  saying  how  distressing  it  was 
that  so  interesting  a  young  man  should  be  thus  throwing  him- 
self away,  and  wondering  what  could  have  happened  to  make 
him  suddenly  cease  his  visits  at  the  house,  and  resort  to  bad 
company. 

If  M.  Fauvel  had  looked  at  the  faces  of  his  wife  and  niece 
while  he  harshly  blamed  the  cashier,  he  would  have  been  puz- 
zled at  their  strange  expressions. 

All  night  long  Mme.  Fauvel  suffered  the  most  intolerable 
agony.  She  counted  each  stroke  of  the  town-clock  as  the 
hours  dragged  on. 

*'  In  six  hours,'*  she  said  to  herself,  "  in  five  hours — in  four 
hours — in  three  hours — ^in  one  hour — all  will  be  discovered; 
and  then  what  will  happen?     Heaven  help  me!" 

At  sunrise  she  heard  the  servants  moving  about  the  house; 
then  the  office  shutters  opened;  then,  later,  she  heard  the 
clerks  going  into  the  bank. 

She  attempted  to  get  up,  but  felt  so  ill  and  weak  that  she 
sunk  back  on  her  pillow:  and  lying  there,  trembling  like  a  leaf, 
bathed  in  cold  perspiration,  she  awaited  the  discovery  of  the 
robbery. 

She  was  leaning  over  the  side  of  the  bed,  straining  her  ear  to 
catch  a  sound  from  the  cash-room,  when  Madeleine,  who  had 
just  left  her,  rushed  into  the  room. 

The  white  face  and  wild  eyes  of  the  poor  girl  told  Mme, 
Fauvel  that  the  crime  was  discovered. 
**  Do  you  know  what  has  happened,  aunt?"  cried  Made- 


322  PILE  NO.  113. 

leine,  in  a  shrill,  horrified  tone.     "  Prosper  is  accused  of  rob" 
bery,  and  the  police  have  come  to  take  him  to  prison!'* 

A  groan  was  Mme.  Faiivel's  only  answer. 

"  Raoulor  the  marquis  is  at  the  bottom  of  this,"  continued 
Madeleine,  excitedly. 

"  How  can  they  be  concerned  in  it,  my  child?'* 

*'  I  can't  tell  yet;  but  I  only  know  that  Prosper  is  innocent. 
I  have  just  seen  him,  spoken  to  him.  He  would  never  have 
looked  me  in  the  face  had  he  been  guilty. " 

Mme.  Fauvel  opened  her  lips  to  confess  all;  fear  kept  hei 
silent. 

"  What  can  these  wretches  want?"  said  Madeleine;  "  what 
new  sacrifice  do  they  demand?  Dishonor  Prosper!  Good 
heavens!  why  did  they  not  kill  him  at  once?  He  would  rather 
be  dead  than  disgraced!" 

Here  the  entrance  of  M.  Fauvel  interrupted  Madeleine. 
The  banker  was  so  angry  that  he  could  scarcely  speak. 
.  "The  worthless  scoundrel!"  he  cried;  "to  think  of  hia 
daring  to  accuse  me!  to  insinuate  that  I  robbed  my  own  safe! 
And  that  Marquis  de  Clameran  must  needs  doubt  my  good 
faith  in  keeping  my  engagement  to  pay  his  money!" 

Then,  without  noticing  the  effect  of  his  story  upon  the  two 
women,  he  proceeded  to  relate  all  that  had  occurred  down- 
stairs. 

"  I  was  afraid  this  extravagance  would  lead  to  something 
terrible,"  he  said,  in  conclusion;  "you  know  I  told  you  last 
night  that  Prosper  was  growing  worse  in  his  conduct,  and  that 
he  would  get  into  trouble." 

Throughout  the  day  Madeleine's  devotion  to  her  aunt  was 
geverely  tried. 

The  generous  girl  saw  disgrace  heaped  upon  the  man  sh€ 
loved.  She  had  perfect  faith  in  his  innocence:  she  felt  sure 
she  knew  who  had  laid  the  trap  to  ruin  him;  and  yet  she  could 
not  say  a  word  in  his  defense. 

Fearing  that  Madeleine  would  suspect  her  of  complicity  in  '^ 
the  theft,  if  she  remained  in  bed  and  betrayed  so  much  agita- 
tion, Mme.  Fauvel  arose  and  dressed  for  breakfast. 

It  was  a  dreary  meal.  No  one  tasted  a  morsel.  The  serv- 
ants moved  about  on  their  tiptoes,  as  silently  as  if  a  death  had 
occurred  in  the  family. 

About  two  o'clock,  a  servant  came  toM.  Fauvel's  study,  and 
eaid  that  the  Marquis  de  Clameran  desired  to  see  him. 

"  What!"  cried  the  banker,  "  does  he  dare  to—" 

Then,  after  a  moment's  reflection,  he  added: 

**  Ask  him  to  walk  up, " 


FILE    NO.    113.  323 

The  yery  name  of  Clameran  had  suflBced  to  arouse  all  the 
ilumbering  wrath  of  M.  Fauvel.  The  victim  of  a  robbery, 
finding  bis  safe  empty  at  the  moment  that  he  was  called  upon 
to  make  a  heavy  payment,  he  had  been  constrained  to  conceal 
his  anger  and  resentment,  but  now  he  determined  to  have  his 
revenge  upon  his  insoleat  visitor! 

But  the  marquis  declined  to  come  upstairs.  The  messenger 
returned  with  the  answer  that  the  gentleman  had  a  particular 
reason  for  seeing  M.  Fauvel  in  the  office  below  where  the  clerkr. 
were. 

"What  does  this  fresh  impertinence  mean?^*  cried  the 
banker,  as  he  angrily  jumped  up  and  hastened  down-stairs. 

M.  de  Clameran  was  standing  in  the  middle  of  the  room  ad- 
joining the  cash-room;  M.  Fauvel  walked  up  to  him,  and  said 
bluntly: 

"  What  do  you  want  now,  monsieur?  You  have  been  paid 
your  money,  and  I  have  your  receipt. '* 

To  the  surprise  of  all  the  clerks,  and  the  banker  himself,  the 
marquis  seemed  not  in  the  least  offended  at  this  rude  greeting, 
but  answered  in  a  deferential  but  not  at  all  humble  manner: 

"  Yon  are  hard  upon  me,  monsieur;  but  I  deserve  it,  and 
that  is  why  I  am  here.  A  gentleman  always  acknowledges 
when  he  is  in  the  wrong:  in  this  instance,  I  am  the  offender; 
and  I  flatter  myself  that  my  past  will  permit  me  to  say  so 
without  being  accused  of  cowardice  or  lack  of  self-respect.  I 
insisted  upon  seeing  you  here  instead  of  in  your  study,  because, 
having  been  rude  to  you  in  the  presence  of  your  clerks,  I 
wished  them  to  hear  me  apologize  for  my  behavior  of  this 
morning.^* 

Olameran's  speech  was  so  different  from  his  usual  overbear- 
ing, haughty  conduct,  that  surprise  almost  stupefied  the 
banker,  and  he  could  only  stammer: 

"  I  must  say  that  I  was  hurt  by  your  doubts,  insinuations, 
suspicions  of  my  honor — " 

*  This  morning,*'  continued  the  marquis,  '*  I  was  irritated, 
and  thoughtlessly  gave  way  to  my  temper.  Although  I  am 
gray-headed,  my  disposition  is  as  excitable  as  that  of  a  fiery 
young  man  of  twenty  years;  and  I  hope  you  will  forget  words 
uttered  in  a  moment  of  excitement,  and  now  deeply  regretted.*' 

M.  Fauvel,  being  a  kind-hearted  though  quick-tempered 
man,  could  appreciate  Olameran's feelings;  and,  knowing  that 
his  own  high  reputation  for  scrupulous  honesty  could  not  be 
affected  by  any  hasty  or  abusive  language  uttered  by  a  creditor, 
at  once  calmed  down  before  so  frank  an  apology,  and  holding 
out  his  hand  to  Clameran.  said: 


324  FILE    NO.    113. 

**  Let  us  forget  what  happened,  monsieur." 

They  conversed  in  a  friendly  manner  for  some  minutes,  iJnd» 
after  Clameran  had  explained  why  he  had  such  pressing  need 
of  the  money  at  that  particular  hour  of  the  morning,  turned 
to  leave,  saying  that  he  would  do  himself  the  honor  of  calling 
upon  Mme.  Fauvel  during  the  day. 

*'  That  is,  if  a  visit  from  me  would  not  be  considered  in- 
trusive," he  said,  with  a  shade  of  hesitation.  "  Perhaps,  after 
the  trouble  of  this  morning,  she  does  not  wish  to  be  disturbed. "  ^ 

"  Oh,  no!"  said  the  banker;  "  come,  by  all  means;  I  think 
a  visit  from  you  would  cheer  her  mind.  I  shall  be  from 
home  all  day,  trying  to  trace  this  unfortunate  affair.'* 

Mme.  Fauvel  was  in  the  same  room  where  Raoul  had 
threatened  to  kill  himself  the  night  previous;  she  looked  very 
pale  and  ill  as  she  lay  on  a  sofa.  Madeleine  was  bathing  her 
forehead. 

When  M.  de  Clameran  was  announced  they  both  started  up 
as  if  a  phantom  had  appeared  before  them. 

Although  Louis  had  been  gay  and  smiling  when  he  parted 
from  M.  Fauvel  down-stairs,  he  now  wore  a  melancholy 
aspect  as  he  gravely  bowed,  and  refused  to  seat  himself  in  the 
chair  which  Mme.  Fauvel  motioned  him  to  take. 

"  You  will  excuse  me,  ladies,  for  intruding  at  this  time  of 
your  affliction;  but  I  have  a  duty  to  fulfill.'* 

The  two  women  were  silent;  they  seemed  to  be  waiting  for 
him  to  explain.     He  added,  in  an  under-tone: 

"  I  know  all.*; 

By  an  imploring  gesture  Mme.  Fauvel  tried  to  stop  him. 
She  saw  that  he  was  about  to  reveal  her  secret  to  Madeleine. 

But  Louis  would  not  see  this  gesture;  he  turned  his  whole 
attention  to  Madeleine,  who  haughtily  said: 

"  Explain  3''ourself,  monsieur.'* 

*'  Only  one  hour  ago,"  he  replied,  "  I  discovered  that  Eaoul 
last  night  forced  from  his  mother  the  key  of  the  money-safe, 
and  stole  three  hundred  and  fifty  thousand  francs.** 

Madeleine  crimsoned  with  shame  and  indignation;  she 
leaned  over  the  sofa,  and  seizing  her  aunt*s  wrist  shook  it  vio- 
lently, and  in  a  hollow  voice  cried: 

*'  It  is  false,  is  it  not,  aunt?     Speak!** 

*'Alas!  alas!'*  groaned  Mme.  Fauvel.  **"What  have  I 
done?** 

"  You  have  allowed  Prosper  to  be  accused,"  cried  Made- 
leine. *'  You  have  suffered  him  to  be  arrested  and  disgraced 
for  life.** 

**  Forgive  me!**  sighed  Mme.  Fauvel     "He  was  about  tcr 


FILE    NO.    113.  335 

kill  himself;  I  was  so  frightened!  Then  you  know — Prosper 
was  to  share  the  money;  he  gave  Eaoul  the  seoret  word — " 

"  Good  Heaven!  Aunt,  how  could  you  believe  such  a  false* 
hood  as  that?'* 

Clameran  interrupted  them. 

"  Unfortunately,  what  your  aunt  says  of  M.  Bertomy  is  the 
truth/*  he  said,  in  a  sad  tone. 

"  Your  proofs,  monsieur;  where  are  your  proofs?" 

"  Raoul's  confession. " 

"  Eaoul  is  false." 

"  That  is  only  too  true;  but  how  did  he  find  out  the  word, 
if  M.  Bertomy  did  not  reveal  it?  And  who  left  the  money  in 
the  safe  but  M.  Bertomy?" 

These  arguments  had  no  effect  upon  Madeleine. 

"  And  now  tell  me,"  she  said,  scornfully,  "  what  became  of 
the  money?" 

There  was  no  mistaking  the  significance  of  these  words:  they 
meant: 

"  You  are  the  instigator  of  the  robbery,  and  of  course  have 
possession  of  the  money. " 

This  harsh  accusation  from  a  girl  whom  he  so  passionately 
loved,  when,  grasping  baodit  as  he  was,  he  gave  up  for  her 
sake  all  the  money  gained  by  his  crime,  so  cruelly  hurt  Clame- 
ran that  he  turned  livid.  But  his  mortification  and  anger 
did  not  prevent  him  from  pursuing  the  part  he  had  prepared 
and  studied. 

*'A  day  will  come,  mademoiselle,"  he  said,  "when  you 
will  deeply  regret  having  treated  me  so  cruelly.  I  understand 
your  insinuation;  you  need  not  attempt  to  deny  it.  ■'* 

"  I  have  no  idea  of  denying  anything,  monsieur.'* 

"  Madeleine!*'  remonstrated  Mme.  Fauvel,  who  trembled  at 
the  rising  anger  of  the  man  who  held  her  fate  in  his  hands, 
*'  Madeleine,  be  careful!" 

"Mademoiselle  is  pitiless,**  said  Clameran,  sadly;  "she 
cruelly  punishes  an  honorable  man  whose  only  fault  is  having 
obeyed  his  brother's  dying  injunctions.  And  I  am  here  now, 
because  I  believe  in  the  joint  responsibility  of  all  the  members 
of  a  family." 

Here  he  slowly  drew  from  his  pocket  several  bundles  of 
bank  notes,  and  laid  them  on  the  mantel-piece. 

"  Eaoul  stole  three  hundred  and  fifty  thousand  francs,"  he 
said:  "  I  return  the  same  amount.  It  is  more  than  half  my 
fortune.  Willingly  would  I  give  the  rest  to  insure  this  being 
the  last  crime  committed  by  him." 

Too  inexperienced  to  penetrate  this  bold,  yet  simple  plan  of 


826  FILE  NO.  113. 

Clameran*8,  Madeleine  was  dumb  with  astonishment;  all  her 
calculations  were  upset. 

Mme.  Fauvel,  on  the  contrary,  accepted  this  restitution  ai 
salvation  sent  from  Heaven. 

"  Oh,  thanks,  monsieur,  thanks!'*  she  cried,  gratefully 
clasping  Clameran's  hand  in  liers:  "  you  are  goodness  itself! 

Louis's  eye  lit  up  with  pleasure.  But  lie  rejoiced  too  soon. 
A  minute's  reflection  brought  back  all  of  Madeleine's  distrust. 
She  thought  this  magnanimity  and  generosity  unnatural  in  a 
man  whom  she  considered  incapable  of  a  noble  sentiment,  and 
at  once  concluded  that  it  must  conceal  some  snare  beneath. 

*'  What  are  we  to  do  with  this  money?"  she  demanded. 

*'  Restore  it  to  Monsieur  Fauvel,  mademoiselle." 

**  We  restore  it,  monsieur,  and  how?  Restoring  the  monty 
is  denouncing  Eaoul,  and  ruining  my  aunt.  Take  back  your 
money,  monsieur.     We  will  not  touch  if 

Clameran  was  too  shrewd  to  insist;  he  took  up  the  money 
and  prepared  to  leave. 

"  I  comprehend  your  refusal,  mademoiselle,  and  must  find 
another  way  of  accomplishing  my  wish.  But,  before  retiring, 
let  me  say  that  your  injustice  pains  me  deeply.  After  the 
promise  you  made  to  me,  I  had  reason  to  hope  for  a  kinder 
welcome." 

"  I  will  keep  my  promise,  monsieur;  but  not  mitilyou  have 
furnishei  security." 

"  Security!  and  for  what?    Pray  explain  yourself.** 

"  Something  to  protect  my  aunt  against  the  molestations  of 
Eaoul  after  my — marriage.  What  is  to  prevent  his  coming  to 
extort  money  from  his  mother  after  he  has  squandered  my 
dowry?  A  man  who  spends  a  hundred  thousand  francs  in 
four  months  will  soon  run  through  my  little  fortune.  We  are 
making  a  bargam;  I  give  you  my  hand  in  exchange  for  the 
honor  and  life  of  my  aunt;  and,  of  course,  you  must  give  me 
some  guaranty  to  secure  the  performance  of  your  promise. " 

"  Oh!  I  will  give  you  ample  securities,"  cried  Clameran; 
**  sach  as  will  quiet  all  your  suspicious  doubts  of  my  good 
faith.  Alas!  you  will  not  believe  in  my  devotion:  what  shall 
I  do  to  convince  you  of  its  sincerity?  Shall  I  try  to  save 
Monsieur  Bertomy?'* 

"  Thanks  for  the  offer,  monsieur,**  replied  Madeleine,  dis- 
dainfully. "  If  Prosper  is  guilty,  let  him  be  punished  by  the 
jaw;  if  he  is  innocent  God  will  protect  him.** 

Here  Madeleine  stood  up,  to  signify  that  the  interview  waa 
over. 

Clameran  bowed  and  left  the  room. 


FILE    NO.    113.  327 

"What  pride!  "What  determination!  The  idea  oT  her  de« 
manding  securities  of  me!"  he  said  to  himself  as  he  slowly 
walked  away.  *'  But  the  proud  girl  shall  be  humbled  yet. 
She  is  so  beautiful !  and,  if  I  did  not  so  madly  love  her,  I  would 
kill  her  on  the  spot!'* 

Never  had  Clameran  been  so  irritated. 

Madeleine's  quiet  determination  and  forethought  had  un- 
expectedly thrown  him  off  his  well-laid  track;  not  anticipating 
any  such  self  assertion  on  her  part,  he  was  disconcerted,  and 
at  a  loss  how  to  proceed. 

He  knew  that  it  would  be  useless  to  attempt  deceiving  a  girl 
of  Madeleine's  character  a  second  time;  he  saw  that  she  had 
penetrated  his  motives  sufficiently  to  put  her  on  the  defensive, 
and  prepare  her  for  any  new  surprise.  Moreover,  she  would 
prevent  Mme.  Fauvel  from  being  frightened  and  forced  into 
submission  any  longer. 

With  mortification  and  rage,  Louis  saw  that  after  all  his 
plotting,  when  success  was  in  his  reach,  when  his  hopes  were 
almost  crowned,  he  had  been  foiled  and  scornfully  set  at  de- 
fiance by  a  girl :  the  whole  thing  would  have  to  be  gone  over 
again. 

Although  Madeleine  had  resigned  herself  to  sacrifice,  it  was 
still  evident  that  she  had  no  idea  of  doing  so  blindly,  and  would 
not  hazard  her  aunt's  and  her  own  happiness  upon  the  un- 
certainty of  an  oral  promise. 

Clameran  racked  his  brain  to  furnish  guaranties;  how  could 
he  convince  her  that  Eaoul  had  no  idea  or  desire  of  annoying 
Mme.  Fauvel  in  the  future? 

He  could  not  tell  Madeleine  that  her  dowry  was  to  be  the 
price  received  by  Raoul  for  his  future  good  behavior  and  past 
crimes.  » 

The  knowledge  of  all  the  circumstances  of  this  shameful 
criminal  Intrigue  would  have  reassured  her  upon  her  aunt's 
peace  of  mind;  but  then  it  would  never  do  to  Inform  her  of 
these  details,  certainly  not  before  the  marriage. 

What   securities  could  he  give?    Not  one  could  he  think  of. 

But  Clameran  was  not  one  of  those  slow-minded  men  who 
take  weeks  to  consider  a  difficulty.  When  he  could  not  untia 
a  knot,  he  would  cut  it. 

Eaoul  was  a  stumbling-block  to  his  wishes.,  and  he  swore  to 
rid  himself  of  his  troublesome  accomplice  as  soon  as  possible. 

Although  it  was  not  an  easy  matter  to  dispose  of  so  cunning 
a  knave,  Clameran  felt  no  hesitation  In  undertaking  to  ac- 
complish his  purpose.  He  was  incited  by  one  of  those  pas' 
sions  which  age  renders  terrible. 


328  FILE  NO.  113. 

The  more  certain  he  was  of  Madeleine's  contempt  and  dis- 
like, the  more  determined  he  was  to  marry  her.  His  love 
seemed  to  be  a  sort  of  insane  desire  to  possess  and  call  his  own 
the  one  being  whom  he  recognized  as  his  superior  in  every  way. 

But  he  had  sense  enough  to  see  that  he  might  ruin  his 
prospects  by  undue  haste,  and  that  the  safest  course  would  be 
to  await  the  result  of  the  robbery  and  its  effect  upon  Prosper. 

He  awaited  in  anxious  expectation  of  a  summons  from  Mme. 
Fauvel.  At  last  he  concluded  that  Madeleine  was  waiting 
for  him  to  make  the  next  move  in  the  direction  of  yielding. 

He  was  right;  Madeleine  knew  that  after  the  last  bold  step 
the  accomplices  would  remain  quiet  for  a  while;  she  knew  re- 
sistance could  have  no  worse  results  than  would  cowardly 
submissiot);  and  t'jerefore  assumed  the  entire  responsibility  of 
managing  the  affair  so  as  to  keep  at  bay  both  Raoul  and 
Clameran. 

She  knew  that  Mme.  Fauvel  would  be  anxious  to  accept  any 
terms  of  peace,  but  determined  to  use  all  her  influence  to 
.prevent  her  doing  this,  and  to  force  upon  her  the  necessity  of 
preserving  a  dignified  silence. 

This  accounted  for  the  silence  of  the  two  women,  who  were 
quietly  waiting  for  their  adversaries  to  renew  hostilities. 

They  even  succeeded  in  concealing  their  anxiety  beneath 
assumed  indifference;  never  asking  any  questions  about  the 
robbery,  or  those  who  were  in  any  way  connected  with  it. 

M.  Fauvel  brought  them  an  account  of  Prosper's  examina- 
tion, the  many  charges  brought  against  him,  his  obstinate 
denial  of  having  stolen  the  money;  and  finally  how,  after  great 
perplexity  and  close  study  of  the  case  by  the  judge  of  instruc- 
tion, the  cashier  had  been  discharged  for  want  of  suflBcient 
proof  against  him. 

Since  Clameran 's  offer  to  restore  the  notes,  Mme.  Fauvel 
had  not  doubted  Prosper's  guilt.  She  said  nothing,  but  in- 
wardly accused  him  of  having  seduoed  her  son  from  the  path 
of  virtue,  and  enticed  him  into  crime — her  son  whom  she  would 
never  cease  to  love,  no  matter  how  great  his  faults. 

Madeleine  had  perfect  faith  in  Prosper's  innocence. 

She  was  so  confident  of  his  being  restored  to  liberty,  tha^' 
she  ventured  to  ask  her  uncle,  under  pretext  of  some  chari- 
table object,  to  give  her  ten  thousand  francs,  which  she  sent 
to  the  unfortunate  victim  of  circumstantial  evidence;  who, 
from  what  she  had  heard  of  his  poverty,  must  be  in  need  of 
assistance. 

In  the  letter — cut  from  the  prayer-book  to  avoid  deteetion 
by  writing — accompanying  thj^j^oney,  she  advised  Prosper  W 


JiLE  NO.  113.  32i» 

leave  France,  because  she  knew  that  it  would  be  impossible 
for  a  man  of  his  proud  nature  to  remain  on  the  scene  of  his 
disgrace;  the  greater  his  innocence,  the  more  intolerable  his 
Buffering. 

Besides,  Madeleine,  at  that  time  feeling  that  she  would  be 
obliged  to  marry  Olameran,  was  anxious  to  have  the  man  she 
loved  far,  far  away  from  her. 

On  the  day  that  this  anonymous  present  was  sent,  in  oppo- 
sition to  the  wishes  of  Mme.  Fauvel,  the  two  poor  women  were 
entangled  fearfully  in  .pecuniary  difficulties. 

The  tradesmen  whose  money  had  been  squandered  by 
Eaoul,  refused  to  give  credit  any  longer,  and  insisted  upon 
their  bills  being  paid  at  once;  saying  they  could  not  under- 
stand how  a  man  of  M.  Fauvel's  wealth  and  position  could 
keep  them  waiting  for  such  insignificant  sums. 

The  butcher,  grocer,  and  wine-merchant  had  bills  of  one, 
two,  and  five  hundred  francs  only;  but,  not  having  even  that 
small  amount,  Mme.  Fauvel  had  difficulty  in  prevailing  upon 
them  to  receive  a  part  on  account,  and  wait  a  little  longer  for 
the  residue. 

Some  of  the  storekeepers  threatened  to  ask  the  banker  for 
their  money,  if  everything  was  not  settled  before  the  end  of  the 
week. 

Alas!  Mme.  Fauvel's  indebtedness  amounted  to  fifteen 
thousand  francs. 

Madeleine  and  her  aunt  had  declined  all  invitations  during 
the  winter,  to  avoid  purchasing  evening  dresses;  having  always 
been  remarkable  for  their  superb  toilets,  seldom  appearing  in 
the  same  ball-dress  twice,  they  dared  not  give  rise  to  comment 
by  wearing  their  old  dresses,  and  knowing  that  M.  Fauvel 
would  be  the  first  to  ask  the  cause  of  this  sudden  change,  as 
he  liked  to  see  them  always  the  best-dressed  women  in  the 
^  room. 

But  at  last  they  were  obliged  to  appear  in  public.  Mme. 
Fauvel*s  most  intimate  friends,  tbe  Messrs.  Jandidier,  were 
about  to  give  a  splendid  ball,  and,  as  fate  would  have  it,  a 
fancy  ball,  which  would  require  the  purchasing  of  costumes. 

Where  would  the  money  come  from.'' 

They  had  been  owing  a  large  bill  to  their  dress-maker  for 
over  a  year.  Would  she  consent  to  furnish  them  dresses  on 
credit?     They  were  ashamed  to  ask  her. 

Madeleine's  new  maid,  Palmyre  Chocareille,  extricated 
them  from  this  difficulty. 

This  girl,  who  seemed  to  nave  suffered  all  the  minor  ills  of 


830  '  FILE    NO.    113. 

life — which^  after  all,  are  the  hardest  to  bear — seemed  to  havfc 
divined  her  mistress's  anxiety. 

At  any  rate,  she  voluntarily  informed  Madeleine  that  a 
friend  of  hers,  a  first-class  dress-maker,  had  just  set  up  for 
herself  and  would  be  glad  to  furnish  materials  and  make  tiie 
dresses  on  credit,  for  the  sake  of  obtaining  the  patronage  of 
Mme.  Fauvel  and  her  niece,  which  would  at  once  bring  her 
plenty  of  fashit)nable  customers. 

But  after  this  dilemma  was  settled,  a  still  greater  one  pre- 
sented itself. 

Mme.  Fauvel  and  her  niece  could  not  appear  at  a  ball  with- 
out jewelry;  and  every  jewel  they  owned  had  been  taken  by 
Eaoul,  and  pawned. 

After  thinking  the  matter  over,  Madeleine  decided  to  ask 
Eaoul  to  take  some  of  the  stolen  money,  and  redeem  the  last 
set  of  jewels  he  had  forced  from  his  mother.  She  informed 
her  aunt  of  her  intention,  and  said,  in  a  tone  that  admitted  of 
no  contradiction: 

"  Appoint  an  interview  with  Eaoul;  he  will  not  dare  to  re- 
fuse you;  and  I  will  go  in  your  stead. " 

The  next  day,  the  courageous  girl  took  a  cab,  and,  regard- 
less of  the  inclement  weather,  went  to  Vesinet. 

She  would  have  been  filled  with  consternation  had  she 
known  that  M.  Verduret  and  Prosper  were  following  close  be- 
hind, and  witnessed  her  interview  from  the  top  of  a  ladder. 

Her  bold  step  was  fruitless.  Eaoul  swore  that  he  had 
divided  with  Prosper;  that  his  own  half  of  the  money  was 
spent,  and  that  he  had  not  a  napoleon  wherewith  to  redeem 
anything. 

He  even  refused  to  give  up  the  pledges;  and  Madeleine  had 
to  resort  to  threats  of  exposure,  before  she  could  induce  him 
to  surrender  the  tickets  of  four  or  five  trifling  articles  that 
were  indispensable  to  their  toilet. 

Clameran  had  ordered  him  to  refuse  positively  to  give  up  a 
single  ticket,  because  he  hoped  that  in  their  distress  they 
would  call  upon  him  for  relief. 

The  violent  altercation  witnessed  by  Clameran's  new  valet, 
Joseph  Dubois,  had  been  caused  by  the  exaction  of  this 
promise. 

The  accomplices  were  at  that  time  on  very  bad  terms. 
Clameran  was  seeking  a  safe  means  of  getting  rid  of  Eaoul; 
and  the  young  scamp,  having  a  presentiment  of  his  uncle's 
mtentions,  was  determined  to  outwit  him. 

Nothing  bat  the  certainty  of  impending  danger  could  recou' 


FILE    NO.    113.  831 

cile  tbem.     The  danger  was  revealed  to  them  both  at  the 

Jandidier  ball. 

Who  was  the  mysterious  mountebank  that  indulged  in  such 
transparent  allusions  to  Mme.  FauveFs  private  troubles,  and 
then  said  with  threatening  significance  to  Louis: 

"  I  was  the  best  friend  of  your  brother  Gaston?" 

Who  he  was,  where  he  came  from,  they  could  not  imagine,; 
but  they  clearly  saw  that  he  was  a  dangerous  enemy,  and 
forthwith  attempted  to  assassinate  him  upon  his  leaving  the 
ball. 

Having  been  followed  and  watched  by  their  would-be  vic- 
tim, they  became  alarmed — especially  when  he  suddenly  disap- 
peared— and  wisely  decided  that  the  safest  thing  they  then 
could  do  was  to  return  quietly  to  their  hotel. 

"  We  can  not  be  too  guarded  in  our  conduct,*'  whispered 
Clameran;  "  we  must  discover  who  he  is,  before  taking  any 
further  steps  in  this  matter.*' 

Once  more,  Eaoul  tried  to  induce  him  to  give  up  his  proj- 
ect of  marrying  Madeleine. 

"  Never!*'  he  exclaimed,  fiercely,  "  I  will  marry  her,  or 
perish  in  the  attempt!" 

He  thought  that,  now  they  were  warned,  the  danger  of  be- 
ing caught  was  lessened;  when  on  his  guard,  few  people  could 
entrap  so  experienced  and  skillful  a  rogue. 

Little  did  Clameran  know  that  a  man  who  was  a  hundred- 
fold more  skillful  than  he,  was  closely  pursuing  him. 


CHAPTEE  XXIL 

THE    CATASTKOPHE. 

Such  are  the  facts  that,  with  an  almost  incredible  talent  for 
investigation,  had  been  collected  and  prepared  by  the  stout 
man  with  the  jovial  face,  who  had  taken  Prosper  under  his 
protection,  M.  Verduret. 

Reaching  Paris  at  nine  o'clock  in  the  evening,  not  by  the 
Lyons  road,  as  he  had  said,  but  by  the  Orleans  train,  M. 
Verduret  hurried  up  to  the  Archangel,  where  he  found  the 
cashier  impatiently  expecting  him. 

"  You  are  about  to  hear  some  rich  developments,"  he  said 
to  Prosper,  "  and  see  how  far  back  into  the  past  one  has  to 
seek  for  the  primary  cause  of  a  crime.  All  things  are  linked 
together  and  dependent  upon  each  other  in  this  world  of  ours. 
If  Gaston  de  Clameran  had  not  entered  a  little  cafe  at  Taras* 
con  to  play  a  game  of  billiards  twenty  years  ago,  your  money* 
safe  would  not  have  been  robbed  three  weeks  ago. 


332  FILE  NO.  113. 

"  Valentine  de  la  Verberie  is  punished  in  1866  for  the  mur- 
der committed  for  her  sake  in  1840.  Nothing  is  neglected  or 
forgotten,  when  stern  retribution  asserts  her  sway.     Listen.*' 

And  he  forthwith  related  all  that  he  had  discovered,  re- 
ferring, as  he  went  along,  to  a  voluminous  manuscript  which 
he  had  prepared,  with  many  notes  and  authenticated  proofs 
attached. 

During  the  last  week  M,  Verduret  had  not  had  twenty-four 
hours'  rest,  but  he  bore  no  traces  of  fatigue.  His  iron  mus- 
cles braved  any  amount  of  labor,  and  his  elastic  nature  was 
too  well  tempered  to  give  way  beneath  such  pressure. 

While  any  other  man  would  have  sunk  exhausted  in  a  chair, 
he  stood  up  and  described,  with  the  enthusiasm  and  captivating 
animation  peculiar  to  him,  the  minutest  details  and  intricacies 
of  the  plot  that  he  had  devoted  his  whole  energy  to  unravel- 
ing; personating  every  character  he  brought  upon  the  scene  to 
take  part  in  the  strange  drama,  so  that  his  listener  was  be- 
wildered and  dazzled  by  his  brilliant  acting. 

As  Prosper  listened  to  this  narrative  of  events  happening 
twenty  years  back,  tlie  secret  conversations  as  minutely  related 
as  if  overheard  the  moment  they  took  place,  it  sounded  more 
like  a  romance  than  a  statement  of  plain  facts. 

All  these  ingenious  explanations  might  be  logical,  but  what 
foundation  did  they  possess?  Might  they  not  be  the  dreams 
of  an  excited  imagination?" 

M.  Verduret  did  not  finish  his  report  until  four  o'clock  in 
the  morning;  then  he  cried  with  an  accent  of  triumph: 

"  And  now  they  are  on  their  guard,  and  sharp,  wary  ras- 
cals, too;  but  they  won't  escape  me.  I've  cornered  them 
beautifully.  Before  a  week  is  over.  Prosper,  you  will  be  pub- 
licly exonerated,  and  will  come  out  of  this  scrape  with  flying 
colors.     I  have  promised  your  father  you  shalL' 

"  Impossible!"  said  Prosper,  in  a  dazed  way;  **it  can  not 

''  What?" 

"  All  this  you  have  just  told  me." 

M.  Verduret  opened  wide  his  eyes,  as  if  he  could  not  nnder- 
stand  any  one  having  the  audacity  to  doubt  the  accuracy  of 
his  report. 

**  Impossible,  indeed!"  he  cried.  "  What!  have  you  not 
sense  enough  to  see  the  plain  truth  written  all  over  every 
fact,  and  attested  by  the  best  authority?  Your  thick-headed- 
ness  exasperates  me  to  the  last  degree." 

"  But  how  can  such  rascalities  take  place  in  Palis,  in  oa/ 
very  midst,  without^"  , 


FILE    NO.    113.  333 

'*  Parbleu!''  interrupted  the  fat  man,  "  you  are  young,  my 
friend!  Are  you  innocent  enough  to  suppose  that  crimes,  torty 
times  worse  than  this,  don^t  occur  every  day.f"  You  think  tho 
horrors  of  the  police  court  are  the  only  ones.  Pooh!  You 
only  read  in  the  '  Gazette  des  Tribunaux  '  of  the  cruel  melo' 
dramas  of  life,  where  the  actors  are  as  cowardly  as  the  knife, 
and  as  treacherous  as  the  poison  they  use.  It  is  at  the  family 
fireside,  often  under  shelter  of  the  law  itself,  that  the  real 
tragedies  of  life  are  acted;  in  modern  crimes,  the  traitors  wear 
gloves,  and  cloak  themselves  with  public  position;  the  victims 
die,  smiling  to  the  last,  without  revealing  the  torture  they 
have  endured  to  the  end.  Why,  what  I  have  just  related  to 
you  is  an  every-day  occurrence;  and  you  profess  astonish- 
ment. " 

"  I  can't  help  wondering  how  you  discovered  all  this  tissue 
of  crime." 

"  Ah,  that  is  the  point!"  said  the  fat  man,  with  a  self-sat- 
isfied smile.  "  When  I  undertake  a  task,  I  devote  my  whole 
attention  to  it.  Now,  make  a  note  of  this:  When  a  man  of 
ordinary  intelligence  concentrates  his  thoughts  and  energies 
upon  the  attainment  of  an  object,  he  is  certain  to  obtain  ulti- 
mate success.  Besides  that,  I  have  my  own  method  of  work- 
ing up  a  case. " 

*'  Still  1  don't  see  what  grounds  you  had  to  go  upon." 

"To  be  sure  one  needs  some  light  to  guide  one  in  a  dark 
affair  like  this.  But  the  fire  in  Clameran's  eye  at  the  mention 
of  Gaston's  name  ignited  my  lantern.  From  that  moment  I 
walked  straight  to  the  solution  of  the  mystery,  as  I  would 
walk  to  a  beacon-light  on  a  dark  night. " 

The  eager,  questioning  look  of  Prosper  showed  that  he  would 
/ike  to  know  the  secret  of  his  protector's  wonderful  penetra- 
tion, and  at  the  same  time  be  more  thoroughly  convinced  that 
what  he  heard  was  all  true— that  his  innocence  would  be  more 
clearly  proved. 

"  Now  confess,"  cried  M.  Verduret,  "you  would  give  any- 
thing in  the  world  to  find  out  how  I  discovered  the  truth?" 

"  I  certainly  would,  for  it  is  the  darkest  of  mysteries — mar- 
velous!" 

M.  Verduret  enjoyed  Prosper's  bewilderment.  To  be  sure, 
he  was  neither  a  good  Judge  nor  a  distinguished  amateur;  but 
he  was  an  astonished  admirer,  and  sincere  admiration  is  always 
flatering,  no  matter  whence  it  comes. 

*'  Weil,"  he  replied,  "  I  will  explain  my  system.  There  ia 
nothing  marvelous  about  it,  as  you  will  soon  see.  We  worked 
together  to  find  the  solution  of  the  problem,  so  you  know  my 


334  PILE   NO.   113. 

reasons  for  suspecting  Clameran  as  the  prime  mover  in  thi 
robbery.  As  soon  as  I  had  acquired  this  certainty,  my  task 
was  easy.  Yoa  want  to  know  what  I  did?  I  placed  trust- 
worthy people  te  watch  the  parties  in  whom  I  was  most  inter- 
ested. Joseph  Dubois  took  charge  of  Clameran,  and  Nina 
Gipsy  never  lost  sight  of  Mme.  Fauvel  and  her  niece.'' 

1  can  not  comprehend  how  Nina  ever  consented  to  thia 
service. " 

"That  is  my  secret,'*  replied  Verduret.  ** Having  the 
assistance  of  good  eyes  and  quick  ears  on  the  spot,  I  went  to 
Beaucaire  to  inquire  into  the  past,  so  as  to  link  it  with  what  I 
knew  of  the  present.  The  next  day  I  was  at  Clameran;  and 
the  first  step  I  took  was  to  find  the  son  of  St.  Jean,  the  old 
valet.  An  honest  man  he  was,  too;  open  and  simple  as  nat- 
ure herself;  and  he  made  a  good  bargain  in  selling  me  his 
madder." 

"  Madder?"  said  Prosper,  with  a  puzzled  look;  *'  what  did 
you  want — ** 

"  Of  course  I  wanted  to  buy  his  madder.  Of  course  I  did 
not  appear  to  him  as  I  do  to  you  now.  I  was  a  countryman 
wanting  to  buy  madder;  he  had  madder  for  sale;  so  we  began 
to  bargain  about  the  price.  The  debate  lasted  almost  all  day, 
during  which  time  we  drank  a  dozen  bottles  of  wine..  About 
supper-time,  St.  Jean  was  drunk  as  a  bung-hole,  and  I  had 
purchased  nine  hundred  francs'  worth  of  madder  which  your 
father  will  sell  to-morrow." 

Prosper's  astonished  countenance  made  M.  Verduret  laugh 
heartily. 

"I  risked  nine  hundred  francs,"  he  continued,  "but 
thread  by  thread  I  gathered  the  whole  history  of  the  Clame- 
rans,  Gaston's  love  affair,  his  flight,  and  the  stumbling  of  the 
horse  ridden  by  Louis.  I  found  also  that  about  a  year  age 
Louis  returned,  sold  the  chdteau  to  a  man  named  Fougeroux, 
whose  wife,  Mihonne,  had  a  secret  interview  with  Louis  the 
day  of  the  purchase.  I  went  to  see  Mihonne.  Poor  woman ! 
her  rascally  husband  has  pounded  all  the  sense  out  of  her,  she 
is  almost  idiotic.  I  told  hei  I  came  from  the  Clameran 
family,  and  she  at  once  related  to  me  everything  she  knew." 

The  apparent  siniplicity  of  this  mode  of  investigation  con- 
founded Prosper.  He  wondered  it  had  not  occurred  to  him 
before. 

**  From  that  time,"  continued  M.  Verduret,  *'  the  skein  be- 
gan to  disentangle;  I  held  the  principal  thread.  I  now  set 
about  finding  out  what  had  become  of  Gaston.  Lafoiircade, 
who  is  a  fnend  of  your  father,  informed  me  that  he  had 


FILE    NO.    113.  333 

bought  a  foundry,  and  settled  at  Oloron,  where  he  soon  aftei 
eaddenly  died.     Thirty-six  hours  later  I  was  at  Oloron.'* 

"  You  are  certainly  indefatigable!'*  said  Prosper. 

"  No,  but  I  always  strike  while  tlie  iron  is  hot.  At  Oloron 
I  met  Manuel,  who  had  gone  there  to  make  a  little  visit  before 
returning  to  Spain.  From  him  I  obtained  a  complete  history 
of  Gaston's  life,  and  all  the  particulars  of  his  death.  Manuel 
also  told  me  of  Louis's  visit;  and  the  inn-keeper  described  a 
young  workman  who  was  there  at  the  same  time,  whom  I  at 
once  recognised  as  Eaoul!" 

"  But  now  did  you  know  of  all  the  conversations  between 
the  villains?"  said  Prosper.  "  You  seem  to  be  aware  of  their 
secret  thoughts. " 

"  You  evidently  think  I  have  been  drawing  upon  my  im- 
agination. You  will  soon  see  to  the  contrary,"  said  Verduret, 
good-hum oredly.  "  While  I  was  at  work  down  there,  my  aids 
did  not  sit  with  their  hands  tied  together.  Mutually  distrust- 
ful, Clameran  and  Eaoul  preserved  all  the  letters  received 
from  each  other.  Joseph  IJubois  copied  them,  or  the  impor- 
tant portions  of  them,  and  forwarded  them  to  me.  Nina  spent 
her  time  listening  at  all  the  doors  under  her  supervision,  and 
sent  me  a  faithful  report.  Finally,  I  have  at  the  Fauvels' 
another  means  of  investigation,  which  I  will  reveal  to  you 
later." 

*'  I  understand  it  all  now,'*  murmured  Prosper. 

"  And  what  have  you  been  doing  during  my  absence,  my 
young  friend?"  asked  M.  Verduret;  "  have  you  heard  any 
news?" 

At  this  question  Prosper  turner!  crimson.  But  he  knew 
that  it  would  never  do  to  keep  silent  about  his  imprudent 
step. 

Alas!"  he  stammered,  *'  I  read  in  a  newspaper  that 
Clameran  was  about  to  marry  Madeleine,  and  I  acted  like  a 
fool." 

*'  What  did  you  do?"  inquired  Verduret,  anxiously. 

"  I  wrote  an  anonymous  letter  to  M.  Fauvel,  informing  him 
that  his  wife  was  in  love  with  Eaoul — " 

M.  Verduret  here  brought  his  clinched  fist  down  upon  the 
little  table  near  by,  with  such  violence  that  the  thin  plank  waa 
shivered.     His  cheerful  face  in  an  instant  clouded  over. 

"  What  folly!"  he  exclaimed,  "  how  could  you  go  and  ruin 
everytliing?" 

He  arose  from  his  seat,  and  strode  up  and  down  the  room, 
oblivious  of  the  lodgers  below,  whose  windows  shook  with  ever^ 
angry  stamp  of  his  foot. 


836  FILE    NO.    113. 

**  What  made  you  act  so  like  a  child,  'an  idiot,  &  fool?"  ha 
said  indignantly  to  Prosper. 

**  Monsieur!" 

**  Here  you  are,  drowning;  an  honest  man  springs  into  tha 
water  to  save  you,  and  just  as  he  approaches  the  shore  you 
entangle  his  feet  to  prevent  him  from  swimming!  What  vaa 
my  last  order  to  you  when  I  left  here?" 

"  To  keep  quiet,  and  not  go  out  of  the  hotel." 

"  Well?" 

The  consciousness  of  having  done  a  foolish  thing  made  Pros* 
per  appear  like  a  frightened  school-boy,  accused  by  his  teacher 
of  playing  truant. 

"  It  was  night,  monsieur,*'  he  hesitatingly  said,  *'  aud> 
having  a  violent  headache,  I  took  a  walk  along  the  quai,  think- 
ing there  was  no  risk  in  my  entering  a  cafe;  there  I  picked  up 
a  paper,  and  read  the  dreadful  announcement." 

"  Did  you  not  promise  to  trust  everything  to  me?'* 

"  You  were  absent,  monsieur;  and  you  yourself  might  have 
been  surprised  by  an  unexpected;—" 

"  Only  fools  are  ever  surprised  into  committing  a  piece  of 
folly,**  cried  M.  Verduret,  impatientl}'.  "To  write  an 
anonymous  letter!  Do  you  know  to  what  you  expose  me? 
Breaking  a  sacred  promise  made  to  one  of  the  few  persons 
whom  I  highly  esteem  among  my  fellow-beings.  I  shall  be 
looked  upon  as  a  liar,  a  cheat — I  who — ** 

He  abruptly  stopped,  as  if  afraid  to  trust  himself  to  speak 
further;  after  calming  down  a  little,  he  turned  to  Prosper, 
and  said: 

•  "  The  best  thing  we  can  do  is  to  try  and  repair  the  harm 
you  have  done.  When  and  where  did  you  post  this  idiotic 
letter?** 

"  Yesterday  evening,  at  the  Rue  du  Cardinal  Lemoine.  It 
hardly  reached  the  bottom  of  the  box  before  I  regretted  hav- 
ing written  it.  ** 

*'  You  had  better  have  regretted  it  before  dropping  it  in 
What  time  was  it?** 

''About  ten  o*clock.*' 

"  Then  your  sweet  little  letter  must  have  reached  Mon- 
sieur Fauvel  with  his  early  mail;  probably  he  was  alone  in  hia 
study  when  he  read  it.** 

*'  I  know  he  was;  he  never  goes  down  to  the  bank  until  he 
has  opened  his  letters.** 

"  Can  you  recall  the  exact  terms  of  your  letter?  Stop  and! 
think,  for  it  is  very  important  that  I  should  know.** 


FILE    KO.    113.  337 

**  Oh,  it  is  unnecessary  for  me  to  reflect.  I  remember  the 
letter  as  if  I  had  just  written  it.** 

And  almost  verbatim  he  repeated  what  he  had  written. 

After  attentively  listening,  M.  Verduret  sat  with  a  per- 
plexed fix)wn  upon  his  face,  as  if  trying  to  discover  some 
means  of  repairing  the  harm  done. 

"That  is  an  awkward  letter,"  he  finally  said,  "to  come 
from  a  person  who  does  not  deal  in  such  things.  It  leaves 
everything  to  be  understood,  without  specifying  anything;  it  is 
vague,  jeering,  insidious.     Repeat  it  to  me.*' 

Prosper  obeyed,  and  his  second  version  did  not  vary  from 
the  first  in  a  single  word. 

*'  Nothing  could  be  more  alarming  than  that  allusion  to  the 
cashier,"  said  the  fat  man,  repeating  the  words  after  Prosper. 
"  The  question:  '  Was  it  also  he  who  stole  Madame  FauveFs 
diamonds?'  is  simply  fearful.  What  could  be  more  exaspera- 
ting than  the  sarcastic  advice:  '  In  your  place,  I  would  not 
have  any  public  scandal,  but  watch  my  wife!'  The  efi'ect  of 
your  letter  must  have  been  terrible,"  he  added,  thoughtfully, 
as  he  stood  with  folded  arms  looking  at  poor  Prosper. 
"  Monsieur  Fauvel  is  quick-tempered,  is  he  not?" 

"  He  has  a  violent  temper,  when  aroused.'* 

*'  Then  the  mischief  is  not  irreparable.** 

"  What  do  you  suppose — " 

"  I  thinik  that  an  impulsive  man  is  afraid  of  himself,  and 
seldom  carries  out  his  first  angry  intentions.  That  is  our 
chance  of  salvation.  If,  upon  the  receipt  of  your  bombshell. 
Monsieur  Fauvel,  unable  to  restrain  himself,  rushed  uito  his 
wife's  room,  and  cried,  '  Where  are  your  diamonds?'  Madame 
Fauvel  will  confess  all;  and  then  good-bye  to  our  hopes." 

"  Why  would  this  be  disastrous?" 

**  Because  the  moment  Madame  Fauvel  opens  her  lips  to 
her  husband,  our  birds  will  take  flight." 

Prosper  had  never  thought  of  this  eventuality. 

"  Then  again,**  continued  M.  Verduret,  "it  would  deeply 
distress  another  person.** 

"  Any  one  whom  I  know?** 

*'  Yes,  my  friend,  and  very  well  too.  I  should  certainly 
be  chagrined  to  the  last  degree,  if  these  two  rascals  escape, 
without  having  obtained  complete  satisfaction  from  them.** 

"  It  seems  to  me  that  you  know  how  to  take  care  of  your^ 
self,  and  can  do  anything  you  please.*'* 

M.  Verduret  shrugged  his  shoulders,  and  said: 

"  Did  you  not  perceive  the  gaps  in  my  narrative?*' 

*•  I  did  not.** 


838  MLB   NO.    113. 

**  That  is  because  you  don't  know  how  to  listen.  In  the 
first  place,  did  Louis  de  Clameran  poison  his  brother  or  not?" 
**  Yes.  I  am  sure  of  it,  from  what  you  tell  me.*' 
**  There  you  are!  You  are  much  more  certain,  young 
van,  than  I  am.  Your  opinion  is  mine;  but  what  proof  have 
"we?  None.  I  skillfully  questioned  Doctor  C — .  He  has  not 
the  shadow  of  suspicion;  and  Doctor  C —  is  no  quack;  he  is  a 
cultivated,  observing  man  of  high  standing.     What  poisons 

E reduce  the  effects  described?  I  know  of  none;  and  yet  I 
ave  studied  up  on  poisons  from  Pomerania  digitalis  to 
Sauvresy  aconite.*' 

*'  The  death  took  place  so  opportunely — " 

**  That  anybody  would  be  convinced  of  foul  play.  That  is 
true;  but  chance  is  sometimes  a  wonderful  accomplice  in 
crime.  In  the  second  place,  I  know  nothing  of  Eaoul's  ante- 
cedents.** 

"  Is  information  on  that  point  necessary?** 

*'  Indispensable,  my  friend;  but  we  will  soon  know  some- 
thing. I  have  sent  off  one  of  my  men — excuse  me,  I  mean 
one  of  my  friends — who  is  very  expert  and  adroit.  Monsieur 
Palot;  and  he  writes  that  he  is  on  the  track.  I  am  interested 
in  the  history  of  this  sentimental,  skeptical  young  rascal.  I 
have  an  idea  that  he  must  have  been  a  brave,  honest  sort  of 
youth  before  Clameran  ruined  him.** 

Prosper  was  no  longer  listening. 

M.  Verduret's  words  had  inspired  him  with  confidence. 
Already  he  saw  the  guilty  men  arraigned  before  the  bar  of 
justice;  and  enjo3'^ed,  in  anticipation,  this  assize-court  drama, 
where  he  would  be  publicly  exonerated  and  restored  to  posi- 
tion. 

Then  he  would  seek  Madeleine,  for  now  he  understood  her 
strange  conduct  at  the  dress-maker's,  and  knew  that  she  had 
never  ceased  to  love  him. 

This  certainty  of  future  happiness  restored  all  the  self- 
possession  that  had  deserted  him  the  day  he  found  the  safe 
robbed.  For  the  first  time  he  was  astonished  at  the  peculiarity 
of  his  situation. 

Prosper  had  at  first  only  been  surprised  at  the  protection  of 
M.  Verduret,  and  the  extent  of  his  investigations;  now  he 
asked  himself,  what  could  have  been  his  motives  for  acting 
thus? 

What  price  did  he  expect  for  this  sacrifice  of  time  and  labor? 

His  anxiety  made  him  say,  nervously: 

*'  It  is  unjust  to  us  both,  monsieur,  for  you  to  preserve 
your  incognito  any  lono;er.     When  you  have  saved  the  honor 


FILE    NO.    113.  33d 

and  life  of  a  man,  you  should  at  least  let  him  know  whom  ha 
is  to  thank  for  it.'* 

"Oh!"  said  M.  Verduret,  smiling,  "  you  are  not  out  of  the 
woods  yet.  You  are  not  married  either,  so  you  must  wait  a 
little  longer;  patience  and  faitn.'' 

The  clock  struck  six. 

"  Good  heavens!"  exclaimed  M.  Verduret.  *'  Can  it  be  six 
o'clock.-^  I  did  hope  to  have  a  good  night's  rest,  but  I  must 
keep  on  moving.     This  is  no  time  to  be  asleep. '' 

He  went  into  the  passage,  and,  leaning  over  the  baluster^ 
called : 

"  Madame  Alexandre!    I  say,  Madame  Alexandre !'' 

The  hostess  of  the  Archangel,  the  portly  wife  of  Fanferlot 
the  squirrel,  evidently  had  not  been  to  bed.  This  fact  struck 
Prosper. 

She  appeared,  obsequious,  smiling,  and  eager  to  please. 

"  What  can  I  do  for  you,  gentlemen?^'  she  inquired. 

"  You  can  send  your— Joseph  Dubois  and  Palmy  re  to  me 
as  soon  as  possible.  Let  me  know  when  they  arrive.  I  will 
rest  a  few  minutes,  and  you  can  awake  me  when  they  come." 

As  soon  as  Mme.  Alexandre  left  the  room,  the  fat  man  un- 
ceremoniously threw  himself  on  the  bed. 

"  You  have  no  objections,  I  suppose?"  he  said  to  Prosper. 

In  five  minutes  he  was  fast  asleep;  and  Prosper  sat  by  the 
bed  watching  him  with  a  perplexed  gaze,  wondering  who  this 
strange  man  could  be. 

About  nine  o'clock  some  one  tapped  timidly  at  the  door. 

Slight  as  the  noise  was,  it  aroused  M.  Verduret,  who  sprung 
up,  and  called  out: 

"  Who  is  it?" 

Prosper  arose  and  opened  the  door. 

Joseph  Dubois,  the  valet  of  the  Marquis  de  Clameran,  en- 
tered. 

This  important  assistant  of  M.  Verduret  was  breathless 
from  fast  running;  and  his  little  rat  eyes  were  more  restless 
than  ever. 

**  Well,  patron,  I  am  glad  to  see  you  once  more,"  he  cried. 
*'  Now  you  can  tell  me  what  to  do;  I  have  been  perfectly  lost 
during  your  absence,  and  have  felt  like  a  jumping  monkey 
with  a  broken  string." 

*'  What!  did  you  get  frightened,  too?" 

"  Bless  me!  I  think  I  had  cause  for  alarm  when  I  could 
not  find  you  anywhere.  Yesterday  afternoon,  I  sent  you  three 
dispatches  to  the  address  you  gave  me,  Lyons,  Beaucaire,  an^ 


340  PILB  NO.  113. 

Oloron,  but  reteived  no  answer.      I  was  almost  crazy  witl/ 
anxiety  when  your  message  reached  me  just  now." 

*'  Things  are  getting  hot,  then?** 

**  HotI  They  are  burning!  The  place  is  too  warm  to  hold 
me  any  longer;  upon  my  soul,  I  can't  stand  it!'* 

M.  Verduret  occupied  himself  in  repairing  his  toilet,  which 
had  become  disarranged  by  lying  down. 

When  he  had  finished,  he  threw  himself  in  an  easy-chair, 
and  said  to  Joseph  Dubois,  who  remained  respectfully  stand- 
ing, cap  in  hand,  like  a  soldier  awaiting  orders: 

**  Explain  yourself,  my  boy,  and  quickly,  if  you  please;  no 
circumlocution.  *  * 

"  It  is  just  this,  patron.  I  don't  know  what  your  plans  are, 
or  what  line  you  are  taking  now;  but  I  can  just  tell  you  this: 
that  you  will  have  to  wind  up  the  affair  pretty  quickly." 

*'  That  is  your  opinion.  Master  Joseph?" 

"  Yes,  patron,  because  if  you  wait  any  longer,  good-bye  to 
our  covey;  you  will  certainly  find  an  empty  cage,  and  the  birds 
flown.  You  smile?  Yes,  I  know  you  are  clever,  and  can  ac- 
complish anything;  but  they  are  cunning  blades,  and  as  slip- 
pery as  eels.     They  know  that  they  are  watched,  too.  '* 

"  The  devil  they  do!"  cried  M.  Verduret.  "  Who  has  been 
committing  blunders?" 

"  Oh!  nobody  has  done  anything  wrong,'*  replied  Joseph. 
"  You  know,  patron,  that  they  suspected  something  long  ago. 
They  gave  you  a  proof  of  it,  the  night  of  the  fancy  ball;  that 
ugly  cut  on  your  arm  was  the  beginning.  Ever  since  they  have 
had  one  eye  open  all  the  time.  They  had  begun  to  feel  easier, 
when  all  of  a  sudden,  yesterday,  mafoi,  they  began  to  smell  a 
rat!" 

"  Was  that  the  cause  of  your  telegrams?" 

"  Of  course.  Kow  listen ;  yesterday  morning  when  my 
master  got  up,  about  ten  o'clock,  he  took  it  into  his  head  to 
arrange  the  papers  in  his  desk;  which,  by  the  way,  has  a  dis- 
gusting lock  which  has  given  me  a  deal  of  trouble.  Mean- 
while, I  pretended  to  be  fixing  the  fire,  so  as  to  remain  in  the 
room  to  watch  him.  Patron,  the  man  has  an  eye  like  a 
Yankee!  At  the  first  glance  he  saw,  or  rather  divined,  that 
his  papers  had  been  meddled  with;  he  turned  livid,  and  sworo 
an  oath;  Lord,  what  an  oath!" 

*'  Never  mind  the  oath;  go  on." 

"  Well,  how  he  discovered  the  little  attentions  I  had  devoted 
to  his  letters,  I  can't  imagine.  You  know  how  careful  I  am. 
I  had  put  everything  in  perfect  order,  just  as  I  found  things  t 
left  them;  when,  lo  and  behold!  my  noble  marquis  picks  up 


ULE  NO.  113.  341 

each  paper,  one  at  a  time,  turns  it  over,  and  smells  it.  I  waa 
just  thinking  I  would  offer  him  a  magnifying-glass,  when  all 
of  a  sudden  he  sprung  up,  and  with  one  kick  sent  his  chair 
across  the  room,  and  flew  at  me  with  eyes  flashing  like  two 
pistols.     *  Somebody  has    been  at  my  papers,^  he  shrieked; 

this  letter  has  been  photographed  I'  B-r-r-r!  1  am  not  a  cow- 
ard, but  I  can  tell  you  that  my  heart  stood  perfectly  still;  I 
saw  myself  as  dead  as  Caesar,  cut  into  mince-meat;  and  says  I 
to  myself,  '  Fanfer — excuse  me— Dubois,  my  friend,  you  are 
lost,  dead;'  and  I  thought  of  Madame  Alexandre. " 

M.  Verduret  was  buried  in  thought,  and  paid  no  attention 
to  the  wortiiy  Joseph's  analysis  of  his  personal  sensations. 

"  What  happened  next?"  said  Verduret,  after  a  few  min- 
utes. 

"  Why,  he  was  just  as  frightened  as  I  was,  patron.  The 
rascal  did  not  even  dare  to  touch  me.  To  be  sure,  I  had  taken 
the  precaution  to  get  out  of  his  reach;  we  talked  with  a  large 
table  between  us.  While  wondering  what  could  have  enabled 
him  to  discover  the  secret,  I  defended  myself  with  virtuous  in- 
dignation.    I  said: 

"  '  It  can  not  be;  Monsieur  le  Marquis  is  mistaken.  Who 
would  dare  touch  his  papers?' 

"  Basta!  Instead  of  listening  to  me,  he  flourished  an  open 
letter,  and  said: 

"  '  This  letter  has  been  photographed!  here  is  proof  of  it!* 
and  he  pointed  to  a  little  yellow  spot  on  the  paper,  and  shriek- 
ing out,  'Look!  Smell!  Smell  it,  you  devil!  It  is — '  1 
forget  the  name  he  called  it,  but  some  acid  used  by  photogra- 
phers. " 

'*  I  know,  I  know,'*  said  M.  Verduret;  "  go  on,  what  next?" 

**  Then,  patron,  we  had  a  scene;  what  a  scene!  He  ended 
by  seizing  me  by  the  throat,  and  shaking  me  like  a  plum-tree, 
saying  he  would  shake  me  until  I  told  him  who  I  was,  what  I 
knew,  where  I  came  from.  As  if  I  knew,  myself!  I  was 
obliged  to  account  for  every  minute  of  my  time  since  I  had 
been  in  his  service.  The  devil  was  worse  than  a  judge  of  in- 
struction, in  his  questions.  Then  he  sent  for  the  hotel-porter, 
who  had  charge  of  the  front-door,  and  questioned  him  closely, 
but  in  English,  so  that  I  could  not  understand.  After  awhile, 
he  cooled  down,  and  when  the  boy  was  gone,  presented  mu 
with  twenty  francs,  saying:  *  I  am  sorry  I  was  so  sharp  with 
you;  you  are  too  stupid  to  have  been  guilty  of  the  offense.'  " 

*'  He  said  that,  did  her" 

**  He  used  those  very  words  to  my  face,  patron." 

**  .And  you  think  he  meant  what  he  saidr'  ^       -  , 


849  FILE  xo.  118. 

"Certainly  I  do." 

The  fat  man  smiled,  and  whistled  a  little  tune  expressive  o! 
contempt. 

"  If  you  think  that/'  he  said,  "  Clameran  was  right  in  hii 
estimate  of  your  brilliancy.*' 

It  was  easy  to  see  that  Joseph  Dubois  was  anxious  to  hear 
his  patron's  grounds  for  considering  him  stupid,  but  dared  not 
Ask. 

**  I  suppose  I  am  stupid,  if  you  think  so,"  said  poor  Fanfer- 
lot,  humbly.  *'  Well,  after  he  had  done  blustering  about  the 
letters,  Monsieur  le  Marquis  dressed  and  went  out.  He  did 
not  want  his  carriage,  but  I  saw  him  hire  a  cab  at  the  hotel- 
door.  I  thought  he  had  perhaps  disappeared  forever;  but  I 
was  mistaken.  About  five  o'clock  he  returned  as  gay  as  a 
bullfinch.     During  his  absence  I  had  telegraphed  to  you." 

*'  What!  did  you  not  follow  him?" 

*'  I  stayed  on  the  spot  in  case  of  his  return,  but  one  of  our 
friends  kept  watch  on  him,  and  this  friend  gave  me  a  report  of 
my  dandy's  movements.  First  he  went  to  a  broker's,  then  to 
the  bank  and  discount  ofiice;  so  he  must  be  collecting  his 
money  to  take  a  little  trip. " 

"  Is  that  all  he  did?" 

*'  That  is  all,  patron.  But  I  must  tell  you  how  the  rascal 
tried  to  shut  up,  '  administratively,'  you  understand.  Made- 
moiselle Palmyre.  Fortunately  you  had  anticipated  something 
of  the  kind,  and  given  orders  to  watch  over  her  safety.  But 
for  you  she  would  now  be  in  prison." 

Joseph  looked  up  to  the  ceiling  by  way  of  trying  to  remem- 
ber something  more.     Finding  nothing  there,  he  said: 

"  That  is  all.  I  rather  think  Monsieur  Patrigent  will  rub 
his  hands  with  delight  when  I  carry  him  my  report.  He  did 
not  expect  to  see  me  any  more,  and  has  no  idea  of  the  facts  I 
have  collected  to  swell  the  size  of  his  File  113." 

There  was  a  long  silence.  Joseph  was  right  in  supposing 
that  the  crisis  had  come.  M.  Verduret  was  arranging  his 
plan  of  battle  while  waiting  for  the  report  of  Nina — now  Pal- 
myre, upon  which  depended  his  point  of  attack. 

But  Joseph  Dubois  began  to  grow  restless  and  uneasy. 

*'  What  must  I  do  now,  patron?"  he  asked. 

"  Return  to  the  hotel;  probably  your  master  has  noticed 
your  absence;  but  he  will  say  nothing  about  it,  so  continue — " 

Here  M.  Verduret  was  interrupted  by  an  exclamation  from 
Prosper,  who  was  standing  near  a  window. 

*'  What  is  the  matter?"  he  inquired. 

"  There  is  Clamerftn,"  cried  Prosper,  "  over  there.*' 


FILE    NO.    113.  343 

M.  Verduret  and  Joseph  ran  to  the  window. 

*'  Where  is  her"  said  Joseph,  "  I  don^t  Bee  him.'* 

"  There,  at  the  corner  of  the  bridge,  behind  that  orange- 
woman's  stall." 

Prosper  was  right.  It  was  the  noble  Marquis  of  Clameran, 
who,  hidden  behind  the  stall,  was  watching  for  his  servant  to 
come  out  of  the  Archangel. 

At  first  the  quick-sighted  Verduret  had  some  doubts  whether 
it  was  the  marquis,  who,  being  skilled  in  these  hazardous  ex- 
peditions, managed  to  conceal  himself  behind  a  pillar  so  as  to 
elude  detection. 

But  a  moment  came,  when,  elbowed  by  the  pressing  crowd, 
he  was  obliged  to  come  out  on  the  pavement  in  full  view  of 
the  window. 

"  Now  don't  you  see  I  was  right?"  cried  the  cashier. 

*'  Well,"  said  the  astonished  Joseph,  "  I  am  amazed!" 

M.  Verduret  seemed  not  in  the  least  surprised,  but  quietly 
said: 

*'  The  game  needs  hunting.  Well,  Joseph,  my  boy,  do  you 
still  think  that  your  noble  master  was  duped  by  your  acting 
injured  innocence?" 

"  You  assured  me  to  the  contrary,  patron,"  said  Joseph,  in 
a  humble  tone;  "  and  your  opinion  is  more  convincing  than 
all  the  proofs  in  the  world." 

"  This  pretended  outburst  of  rage  was  premeditated  on  the 
part  of  your  noble  master.  Knowing  that  he  is  being  tracked, 
he  naturally  wishes  to  discover  who  his  adversaries  are.  You 
can  imagine  how  uncomfortable  he  must  be  at  this  uncertain- 
ty. Perhaps  he  thinks  his  pursuers  are  some  of  his  old  accom- 
plices, who,  being  starved,  want  a  piece  of  his  cake.  He  will 
remain  there  until  you  come  out;  then  he  will  come  in  to  find 
out  who  you  are." 

*'  But,  patron,  I  can  go  home  without  his  seeing  me." 

"  Yes,  I  know.  You  will  climb  the  little  w^l  separating 
the  Archangel  from  the  wine-merchant's  yard,  and  keep  along 
the  stationer's  area,  until  you  reach  the  Eue  de  la  Huchette." 

Poor  Joseph  looked  as  if  he  had  just  received  a  bucket  of 
ice-water  on  his  head. 

"  Exactly  the  way  I  was  going,  patron,"  he  gasped  out. 
'*  T  heard  that  you  knew  every  plank  and  door  or  all  the 
houses  in  Paris,  and  it  certainly  must  be  so." 

The  fat  man  made  no  reply  to  Joseph's  admiring  remarks. 
He  was  thinking  how  he  could  catch  Clameran. 

As  to  the  cashier,  he  listened  wonderingly,  watching  these 
itrnngers,  who  seemed  determined  tQ  reinstate  him  in  public 


344  FILE    NO.    113. 

opinion,  and  pnnisli  his  enemies,  while  he  himself  stood  by 

Eoweriess  and  bewildered.  What  their  motives  for  befriending 
im  could  be,  he  vainly  tried  to  discover. 

"  I  will  tell  you  what  I  can  do,'*  said  Joseph,  after  deep 
thought. 

"  What  is  it?" 

**  I  can  innocently  walk  out  of  the  front-door,  and  loaf 
along  the  street  until  I  reach  the  H6tel  du  Louvre." 

*' And  then?" 

*'  Dame!  Olameran  will  come  in  and  question  Madame  Al- 
exandre, whom  you  can  instruct  beforehand,  and  she  is  smart 
enough  to  put  any  sharper  off  the  track.** 

"Bad  plan!'*  pronounced  M.  Verduret,  decidedly;  **  a 
scamp  so  compromised  as  Clameran  is  not  easily  put  off  the 
track;  now  his  eyes  are  opened,  he  will  be  pretty  hard  to 
catch.** 

Suddenly,  in  a  brief  tone  of  authority  which  admitted  of  no 
contradiction,  the  fat  man  said: 

"  I  have  a  way.  Has  Clameran,  since  he  found  that  his 
papers  have  been  searched,  seen  Lagors?*' 

"No,  patron.*' 

"  Perhaps  he  has  written  to  him?*' 

**  I'll  bet  you  my  head  he  has  not.  Having  your  orders  to 
watch  his  correspondence,  I  invented  a  little  system  which  in- 
forms me  every  time  he  touches  a  pen;  during  the  last  twenty- 
four  hours  the  pens  have  not  been  touched. " 

"  Clameran  «'ent  out  yesterday.** 

"  But  the  man  who  followed  him  says  he  wrote  nothing  on 
the  way.** 

*'  Then  we  have  time  yet!*'  cried  Verduret.  "  Hurry! 
hurry!  I  give  you  fifteen  minutes  to  make  yourself  a  head; 
you  know  the  sort;  I  will  watch  the  rascal  until  you  come  up." 

The  delighted  Joseph  disappeared  in  a  twinkling;  while 
Prosper  and  M.  Verduret  remained  at  the  window  observing 
Clameran,  who,  according  to  the  movements  of  the  crowd,  was 
sometimes  lost  to  sight,  and  sometimes  just  in  front  of  the 
window,  but  was  evidently  determined  not  to  quit  his  post  un- 
til he  had  obtained  the  information  he  sought. 

"  Why  do  you  devote  yourself  exclusively  to  the  marquis?*' 
asked  Prosper. 

"  Because,  my  friend,**  replied  M.  Verduret,  "  because— 
that  is  my  business  and  not  yours.  *' 

Joseph  Dubois  had  been  granted  a  quarter  of  an  hour  in 
which  to  metamorphose  himself;  before  ten  minutes  had 
elapsed  he  reappeared. 


FILE    NO.    113.  345 

The  dandified  coachman  with  Bergam  whiskers,  red  rest, 
and  foppish  manners,  was  replaced  by  a  sinisier-looking  indi- 
vidual, whose  very  appearance  was  enough  to  scare  any  rogue. 

His  black  cravat  twisted  around  a  paper  collar,  and  orna- 
mented by  an  imitation  diamond  pin;  his  long- tailed  black 
coat  buttoned  up  to  the  chin;  his  greasy  hat  and  shiny  boote 
and  heavy  cane — revealed  the  employe  of  the  Eue  de  Jerusa- 
lem, as  plainl}'  as  the  shoulder-straps  mark  a  soldier. 

Joseph  Dabois  had  vanished  forever;  and  from  his  livery, 
phoenix-like  and  triumphant,  arose  the  radiant  Fanferlot, 
surnamed  the  Squirrel. 

When  Fanferlot  entered  the  room.  Prosper  uttered  a  cry  of 
surprise  and  almost  fright. 

He  recognized  the  man  who  had  assisted  the  commissary  of 
police  to  examine  the  bank  on  the  day  of  the  robbery. 

M.  Verduret  examined  his  aid  with  a  satisfied  look,  and  said* 

'*  Not  bad!  There  is  enough  of  the  police  court  air  about 
you  to  alarm  even  an  honest  man.  You  understand  me  per- 
fectly this  time." 

Fanferlot  was  transported  with  delight  at  this  compliment. 

*'  What  must  I  do  now,  patron?"  he  inquired. 

"  Nothing  difficult  for  an  adroit  man;  but  remember,  upon 
the  precision  of  our  movements  depends  the  success  of  my  plan. 
Before  arresting  Lagors,  I  wish  to  dispose  of  Clameran.  Now 
that  the  rascals  are  separated,  the  first  thing  to  do  is  to  prevent 
their  coming  together. " 

*'  I  understand,"  said  Fanferlot,  snapping  his  little  rat-like 
eyes;  "  I  am  to  create  a  diversion.'* 

*'  Exactly.  Go  out  by  the  Rue  de  la  Huchette,  and  hasten 
to  (St.  Michel's  Bridge;  loaf  along  the  bank,  and  finally  sit 
down  on  the  steps  of  the  quay,  so  that  Clameran  may  know  he 
is  being  watched.  If  he  don't  see  you,  do  something  to  attract 
his  attention." 

"  Parbleu!  I  will  throw  a  stone  in  the  water,"  said  Fanfer^ 
lot,  rubbing  his  hands  with  delight  at  his  own  brilliant  idea. 

"  As  soon  as  Clameran  has  seen  you,"  continued  M.  Ver- 
duret, "  he  will  be  alarmed,  and  instantly  decamp.  Knowing 
there  are  reasons  why  the  police  should  be  after  him,  he  will 
hasten  to  escape  you;  then  comes  the  time  for  you  to  keep 
wide  awake;  he  is  a  slippery  eel  and  cunning  as  a  rat." 

"  I  know  all  that;  I  was  not  born  yesterday." 

"  So  much  the  better.  You  can  convince  him  of  that. 
Well,  knowing  you  are  at  his  heels,  he  will  not  dare  to  return 
to  the  Hdtel  dy  Louvre,  for  fear  of  being  called  on  by  trouble- 


346  FILE    NO.    113. 

8ome  visitors.  Now,  it  is  very  important  that  he  should  not 
return  to  the  hotel.  *' 

**  But  suppose  he  does?*'  said  Fanferlot. 

M.  Verduret  thought  for  a  minute,  and  then  said: 

**  It  is  not  probable  that  he  will  do  so;  but  if  he  should,  you 
must  wait  until  he  comes  out  again,  and  continue  to  follow 
him.  But  he  won't  enter  the  hotel;  very  likely  he  will  take 
the  cars;  but  in  that  event  don't  lose  sight  of  him,  no  matter 
if  you  have  to  follow  him  to  Siberia.  Have  you  money  with 
you?'' 

'*  I  will  get  some  from  Madame  Alexandre." 

"  Very  good.  Ah!  one  more  word.  If  the  rascal  takes  the 
cars,  send  me  word.  If  he  beats  about  the  bush  until  night, 
be  on  your  guard,  especially  in  lonely  places;  the  desperado  is 
capable  of  any  enormity." 

"  If  necessary,  must  I  fire?" 

"  Don't  be  rash;  but  if  he  attacks  you,  of  course  defend 
yourself.     Come,  'tis  time  you  were  gone." 

Dubois-Fanferlot  went  out.  Verduret  and  Prosper  resumed 
their  post  of  observation. 

*'  Why  all  this  secrecy?"  inquired  Prosper.  "  Clameran  is 
charged  with  ten  times  worse  crimes  than  I  was  ever  accused 
of,  and  yet  my  disgrace  was  made  as  public  as  possible." 

"  Don't  you  understand,"  replied  the  fat  man,  "  that  I 
wish  to  separate  the  cause  of  Raoul  from  that  of  the  marquis? 
But, 'sh!  look!" 

Clameran  had  left  his  place  near  the  orange-woman's  stand, 
and  approached  the  bridge,  where  he  seemed  to  be  trying  to 
make  out  some  unexpected  object. 

"Ah!"  said  M.  Verduret;  "he  has  just  discovered  our 
man." 

Clameran's  uneasiness  was  quite  apparent;  he  walked  for- 
ward a  few  steps,  as  if  intending  to  cross  the  bridge;  then 
suddenly  turning  around,  rapidly  walked  in  the  direction  of 
the  Rue  St.  Jacques. 

"  He  is  caught!"  cried  M.  Verduret,  with  delight. 

At  that  moment  the  door  opened,  and  Mme.  Nina  Gipsy, 
alias  Pal  my  re  Chocareille,  entered. 

Poor  Nina!  Each  day  spent  in  the  service  of  Madeleine 
seemed  to  have  aged  her  a  year. 

Tears  had  dimmed  the  brilliancy  of  her  beautiful  black  eyes; 
her  rosy  cheeks  were  pale  and  hollow,  and  her  merry  smile 
was  quite  gone. 

Poor  Gipsy,  once  so  gay  and  spirited,  now  crushed  beneatb 
the  burden  of  her  sorrows,  was  the  picture  of  misery. 


FILE    KO.    113.  347 

Prosper  thought  that,  wild  with  joy  at  seeing  him,  and 
proud  of  having  so  nobly  devoted  herself  to  his  interests,  Nina 
would  throw  her  arms  around  his  neck,  and  say  how  much  she 
loved  him.  To  his  surprise,  Nina  scarcely  spoke  to  him.  Al- 
though his  every  thought  had  been  devoted  to  Madeleine  since 
he  discovered  the  reasons  for  her  cruelty,  he  was  hurt  by 
Nina's  cold  manner. 

The  girl  stood  looicing  at  M.  Verduret,  with  a  mixture  of 
fear  and  devotion,  like  a  poor  dog  that  has  been  cruelly  treat- 
ed by  its  master.  He,  however,  was  kind  and  gentle  in  his 
manner  toward  her. 

"  Well,  my  dear,"  he  said,  encouragingly,  "  what  news  do 
you  bring  me?'* 

"  Something  is  going  on  at  the  house,  monsieur,  and  I  have 
been  trying  to  get  here  to  tell  you;  at  last.  Mademoiselle  Ma- 
deleine made  an  excuse  for  sending  me  out. " 

"  You  must  thank  Mademoiselle  Madeleine  for  her  confi- 
dence in  me.  I  suppose  she  carried  out  the  plan  we  decided 
upon?" 

"  Yes,  monsieur." 

*'  She  receives  the  Marquis  of  Clameran's  visits?'** 

*'  Since  the  marriage  has  been  decided  upon,  he  comes  every 
day,  and  mademoiselle  receives  him  with  kindness.  He  seems 
to  he  delighted.  '* 

These  answers  filled  Prosper  with  anger  and  alarm.  The 
poor  young  man,  not  comprehending  the  intricate  moves  of 
M.  Verduret,  felt  as  if  he  were  being  tossed  about  from  pillar 
to  post,  and  made  the  tool  and  laughing-stock  of  everybody. 

What!"  he  cried;  "  this  worthless  Marquis  of  Clameran, 
an  assassin  and  a  thief,  allowed  to  visit  at  Monsieur  Pauvel's, 
and  pay  his  addresses  to  Madeleine?  Where  are  the  promises, 
monsieur,  which  you  have  made?  Have  you  merely  been 
amusing  yourself  by  raising  my  hopes,  to  dash  them — " 

"Enough!"  interrupted  M.  Verduret,  harshly;  "you  are 
too  green  to  understand  anything,  my  friend.  If  you  are  in- 
capable of  helping  yourself,  at  least  have  sense  enough  to  re- 
frain from  importuning  those  who  are  working  for  you.  Do 
you  not  think  you  have  already  done  sufiicient  mischief?" 

Having  administered  this  rebuke,  he  turned  to  Gipsy,  and 
aaid,  in  softer  tones: 

"  Go  on,  my  child!  what  have  you  discovered?" 

*'  Nothing  positive,  monsieur;  but  enough  to  make  me  nerv- 
ous;, and  fearful  of  impending  danger.  1  am  not  certain,  but 
suspect  from  appearances  that  some  dreadful  catastrophe  is 
about  to  hapj>en.     It  may  onlv  be  a  presentiment.     I  can  noi 


348  FILE    NO.    113. 

get  any  information  from  Madame  Fauvel,  she  refuses  to  an 
swer  any  hints,  and  moves  about  like  a  ghost,  never  opening 
her  lips.     She  seems  to  be  afraid  of  her  niece,  and  to  be  trying 
to  conceal  something  from  her.'* 

"  What  about  Monsieur  Fauvel?" 

**  I  was  just  about  to  tell  you,  monsieur.  Some  fearful 
misfortune  has  happened  to  him,  you  may  depend  upon  it. 
He  wanders  about  as  if  he  had  lost  his  mind.  Something  cer- 
tainly occurred  yesterday;  his  voice  even  is  changed.  He  is  so 
harsh  and  irritable  that  mademoiselle  and  Monsieur  Lucien 
were  wondering  what  could  be  the  matter  with  him.  He  seems 
to  be  on  the  eve  of  giving  way  to  a  burst  of  anger,  and  there 
is  a  wild  strange  look  about  his  eyes,  especially  when  he  looks 
at  madame.  Yesterday  evening,  when  Monsieur  de  Clameran 
was  announced,  he  jumped  up  and  hurried  out  of  the  room, 
saying  that  he  had  some  work  to  do  in  his  study.*' 

A  triumphant  exclamation  from  M.  Verduret  interrupted 
Mme.  Gipsy.     He  was  radiant. 

"  Hein!"  he  said  to  Prosper,  forgetting  his  bad  humor  of  a 
few  minutes  before.     "  Hein!  what  did  I  tell  your" 

"  He  has  evidently — ** 

**  Been  afraid  to  give  way  to  his  first  impulse;  of  course  he 
has.  He  is  now  seeking  for  proofs  of  your  assertions.  He 
must  have  them  by  this  time.  Did  the  ladies  go  out  yester- 
day?*' 

*'  Yes,  a  part  of  the  day.** 

*'  What  becomes  of  Monsieur  Fauvel?** 

*'  The  ladies  took  me  with  them;  we  left  Monsieur  Fauvel 
at  home.  ** 

"  Not  a  doubt  of  it!**  cried  the  fat  man;  *'  he  looked  for 
proofs,  and  found  them  too!  Your  letter  told  him  exactly 
where  to  go.  Ah,  Prosper,  that  unfortunate  letter  gives  more 
trouble  than  everything  else  together. " 

These  words  seemed  to  throw  a  sudden  light  on  Mme. 
Gipsy *8  mind. 

I  understand  it  now!**  she  exclaimed.  "  Monsieur  Fauvel 
knows  everything.** 

"  That  is,  he  thinks  he  knows  everything;  and  what  he  has 
been  led  to  fear,  and  thinks  he  has  discovered,  is  worse  than 
the  true  state  of  affairs.** 

*'  That  accounts  for  the  order  which  Monsieur  Cavaillon 
overheard  him  give  to  his  servant-man,  Evariste.*' 

"  What  order?** 

"  He  told  Evariste  to  bring  every  letter  that  came  to  the 
houae,  no  matter  to  whom  addressed,  into  his  study,  and  hand 


FILE    NO.    113.  349 

them  to  him,  saying  that,  if  this  order  was  disobeyed,  he 
should  be  instantly  discharged." 

"  At  what  time  was  this  order  given?''  Asked  M.  Verduret. 

"  Yesterday  afternoon." 

"  That  is  what  I  was  afraid  of,"  cried  M.  Verduret.  "  He 
has  clearly  made  up  his  mind  what  course  to  pursue,  and  is 
keeping  quiet  so  as  to  make  his  vengeance  more  sure.  The 
question  is,  have  we  still  time  to  counteract  his  projects?  Have 
we  time  to  convince  him  that  the  anonymous  letter  was  incor- 
rect in  some  of  its  assertions?" 

He  tried  to  hit  upon  some  plan  for  repairing  the  damage 
done  by  Prosper 's  foolish  letter. 

"  Thank  you  for  your  information,  my  dear  child,"  he  said, 
after  a  long  silence.  "  I  will  decide  at  once  what  steps  to 
take,  for  it  will  never  do  to  sit  quietly,  and  let  things  go  ou 
in  this  way.  Eeturn  home  without  delay,  and  be  careful  of 
everything  you  say  and  do;  for  Monsieur  Fauvel  suspects  you 
of  being  in  the  plot.  Send  me  word  of  anything  that  happens, 
Uo  matter  how  insignificant  it  may  be. 

Nina,  thus  dismissed,  did  not  move,  but  said,  timidly: 

"  What  about  Caldas,  monsieur?" 

This  was  the  third  time  during  the  last  fortnight  that  Pros- 
per had  heard  this  name,  Caldas. 

The  first  time  it  had  been  whispered  in  his  ear  by  a  respect- 
able-looking, middle-aged  man,  who  offered  his  protection  one 
day,  when  passing  through  the  police-office  passage. 

The  second  time,  the  judge  of  instruction  had  mentioned  it 
in  connection  with  Gipsy's  history. 

Prosper  thought  over  all  the  men  he  had  ever  been  con- 
nected with,  but  could  recall  none  named  Caldas.    ' 

The  impassible  M.  Verduret  started  and  trembled  at  the 
Bound  of  his  name,  but,  quickly  recovering  himself,  said: 

*'  I  promise  to  find  him  for  you,  and  I  will  keep  my  prom- 
ise.    Now  you  must  go;  good-morning." 

It  was  twelve  o'clock,  and  M.  Verduret  suddenly  remem- 
bered that  he  was  hungry.  He  called  Mme.  Alexandre,  and 
the  beaming  hostess  of  the  Archangel  soon  placed  a  tempting 
breakfast  before  Prosper  and  his  friend. 

But  the  savory  broiled  oysters  and  flaky  biscuit  failed  to 
smoothe  the  perplexed  brow  of  M.  Verduret. 

To  the  eager  questions  and  complimentary  remarks  of  Mme. 
Alexandre,  he  answered: 

"  Chut,  chut!  let  me  alone;  keep  quiet." 

For  the  first  time  since  he  had  known  the  fat  man.  Prosper 
saw  him  betray  anxiety  and  hesitation. 


350  FILE    NO.    113. 

He  remained  silent  as  long  as  he  could,  and  then  uneaaily 
said: 

"  I  am  afraid  I  have  embarrassed  yoa  very  much,  mon- 
sieur.^* 

"  Yes,  you  have  dreadfully  embarrassed  me,"  replied  M. 
Verduret.  **  What  on  earth  to  do  now,  I  don't  know:  Shall 
I  hasten  matters,  or  keep  quiet  and  wait  for  the  next  move. 
And  I  am  bound  by  a  sacred  promise.  Come,  we  had  better 
go  and  advise  with  the  judge  of  instruction.  He  can  assist 
me.     Come  with  me;  let  us  hurry." 


CHAPTER  XXni. 

As  M.  Verduret  had  anticipated,  Prosper's  letter  had  a  ter- 
rible effect  upon  M.  Fauvel. 

It  was  toward  nine  o'clock  in  the  morning,  and  M.  Fauvel 
had  just  entered  his  study  when  his  mail  was  brought  in. 

After  opening  a  dozen  business  letters,  his  eyes  fell  on  the 
fatal  missive  sent  by  Prosper. 

Something  about  the  writing  struck  him  as  peculiar. 

It  was  evidently  a  disguised  hand,  and  although,  owing  to 
the  fact  of  his  being  a  millionaire,  he  was  in  the  habit  of  re- 
ceiving anonymous  communications,  sometimes  abusive,  but 
generally  begging  for  money,  this  particular  letter  filled  him 
with  an  indefinite  presentiment  of  evil.  A  cold  chill  ran 
through  his  heart,  and  he  dreaded  to  open  it. 

With  absolute  certainty  that  he  was  about  to  learn  some 
new  calamity,  he  broke  the  seal,  and  opening  the  coarse  ca/e 
paper,  was  shocked  by  the  following  words: 

"  Dear  Sib, — You  have  handed  your  cashier  over  to  the 
law,  and  you  acted  properly,  convinced  as  you  were  of  his 
dishonesty. 

"  But  if  it  was  he  who  took  three  hundred  and  fifty  thou- 
sand francs  from  your  safe,  was  it  he  also  who  took  Madame 
FauvePs  diamonds?" 

This  was  a  terrible  blow  to  a  man  whose  life  hitherto  had 
been  an  unbroken  chain  of  prosperity,  who  could  recall  the 
past  without  one  bitter  regret,  without  remembering  any  sor- 
row deep  enough  to  bring  forth  a  tear. 

What!  his  wife  deceive  him!  And  among  all  men,  to 
choose  one  vile  enough  to  rob  her  of  her  jewels,  and  force  her 
to  be  his  accomplice  in  the  ruin  of  an  innocent  young  man! 

For  did  not  the  letter  before  him  assert  this  to  be  the  fact, 
»nd  tell  him  how  to  convince  himself  of  its  truth? 


FILE   NO.   113.  351 

M.  Fauvel  was  as  bewildered  as  if  he  had  been  knocked  on 
the  head  with  a  club.  It  was  impossible  for  his  scattered 
iieas  to  take  in  the  enormity  of  what  these  dreadful  words  in- 
timated. He  seemed  to  be  mentally  and  physically  paralyzed, 
as  he  sat  there  staring  blankly  at  the  letter. 

But  this  stupefaction  suddenly  changed  to  indignant  rage. 

"  What  a  fool  I  am!"  he  cried,  ''  to  listen  to  such  base 
lies,  such  malicious  charges  against  the  purest  woman  whom 
God  ever  sent  to  bless  a  man!'' 

And  he  angrily  crumpled  up  the  letter,  and  threw  it  into 
the  empty  fire-place,  saying: 

"  I  will  forget  having  read  it.  I  will  not  soil  my  mind  by 
letting  it  dwell  upon  such  turpitude!'* 

He  said  this,  and  he  thought  it:  but,  for  all  that,  he  could 
not  open  the  rest  of  his  letters.  The  anonymous  missive  stood 
before  his  eyes  in  letters  of  fire,  and  drove  every  other  thought 
from  his  mind. 

That  penetrating,  clinging,  all-corroding  worm,  suspicion, 
had  taken  possession  of  his  soul;  and  as  he  leaned  over  his 
desk,  with  his  face  buried  in  his  hands,  thinking  over  many 
things  which  had  lately  occurred,  insignificant  at  the  time, 
but  fearfully  ominous  now,  this  unwillingly  admitted  germ 
of  suspicion  grew  and  expanded  until  it  became  certainty. 

But,  resolved  that  he  would  not  think  of  his  wife  in  connec- 
tion with  so  vile  a  deed,  he  imagined  a  thousand  wild  excuses 
for  the  mischief  maker  who  took  this  mode  of  annoying  him; 
of  course  there  was  no  truth  in  his  assertions,  but  from 
curiosity  he  would  like  to  know  who  had  written  it.  And  yet 
suppose — 

Merciful  God!  can  it  be  true?''  he  wildly  cried,  as  the 
idea  of  his  wife's  guilt  would  obstinately  return  to  his 
troubled  mind. 

Thinking  that  the  writing  might  throw  some  light  on  the 
mystery,  he  started  up  and  tremblingly  picked  the  fatal  letter 
out  of  the  ashes.  Carefully  smoothing  it  out,  he  laid  it  on  his 
desk,  and  studied  the  heavy  strokes,  light  strokes,  and  capitals 
of  every  word. 

"  It  must  be  from  some  of  my  clerks,"  he-  finally  said; 
*'some  one  who  is  angry  with  me  for  refusing  to  raise  his 
salary;  or  perhaps  it  is  the  one  that  I  dismissed  the  other 
day." 

Clinging  to  this  idea,  he  thought  over  all  the  young  men 
in  his  bank;  but  not  one  could  he  believe  capable  of  resorting 
to  so  base  a  vengeance. 

Tii«a  he  wondered  where  the  letter  had  been  posted,  thiat 


352  FILE    NO.    113. 

tog  this  might  throw  some  light  upon  the  mystery.  He  looLeil 
at  the  envelope,  and  read  the  postmark: 

"  Rue  du  Cardinal  Lemoine.'' 

This  fact  told  him  nothing. 

Once  more  he  read  the  letter,  spelling  over  each  word,  and 
trying  to  put  a  different  construction  on  the  horrible  phases 
that  stared  him  in  the  face. 

It  is  generally  agreed  that  an  anonymous  letter  should  be 
treated  witli  silent  contempt,  and  cast  aside  as  the  malicious 
lies  of  a  coward  who  dares  not  to  say  to  a  man's  face  what  he 
secretly  commits  to  paper,  and  forces  upon  him. 

This  is  all  very  well  in  theory,  but  it  is  difficult  to  practice 
when  the  anonymous  letter  comes.  You  throw  it  in  the  fire, 
it  burns;  but,  although  the  paper  is  destroyed  by  the  flames, 
doubt  remains.  Suspicion  arises  from  its  ashes,  as  a  subtle 
poison  penetrates  the  inmost  recesses  of  the  mind,  weakens 
Its  holiest  beliefs,  and  destroys  its  faith. 

The  trail  of  the  serpent  is  left. 

The  wife  suspected,  no  matter  how  unjustly,  is  no  longer 
the  wife  in  whom  her  husband  trusted  as  he  would  trust  him- 
self: the  pure  being  who  was  above  suspicion  no  longer  exists. 
Suspicion,  no  matter  whence  the  source,  has  irrevocably  tar- 
nished the  brightness  of  his  idol. 

Unable  to  struggle  any  longer  against  these  conflicting 
doubts,  M.  Fauvel  determined  to  resolve  them  by  showing 
the  letter  to  his  wife;  but  a  torturing  thought,  more  terrible 
than  any  he  had  yet  suffered,  made  him  sink  back  in  his  chair 
in  despair. 

"  Suppose  it  be  true!''  he  muttered  to  himself;  "  suppose 
I  have  been  miserably  duped!  By  confiding  in  my  wife,  I 
shall  put  her  on  her  guard,  and  lose  all  chance  of  discovering 
the  truth." 

Thus  were  realized  all  Verduret's  presumptions. 

He  had  said,  "  If  Monsieur  Fauvel  does  not  yield  to  his  first 
impulse,  if  he  stops  to  reflect,  we  have  time  to  repair  the 
harm  done. " 

Alter  a  long  and  painful  meditation,  the  banker  finally  de- 
cided to  wait,  and  watch  his  wife. 

It  was  a  hard  struggle  for  a  man  of  his  frank,  upright  nat- 
ure to  play  the  part  of  domestic  spy  and  jealous  husband. 

Accustomed  to  give  way  to  sudden  bursts  of  anger,  but 
quickly  mastering  them,  he  would  find  it  difl&cult  to  be  com- 
pelled to  preserve  his  self-restraint,  no  matter  how  dreadful 
the  discoveries  might  be.     When  he  collected  the  proofs  of 


FILE    NO.    113.  353 

^•oilt  one  by  one,  he  must  impose  silence  upon  his  resentment^ 

Ivjitil  fully  assured  of  possessing  certain  evidence. 

There  was  one  simple  means  of  ascertaining  whether  thk> 
diamonds  had  been  pawned. 

If  the  letter  lied  in  this  instance,  he  would  treat  it  with  the 
BCtirn  it  deserved.  If,  on  the  other  hand,  it  should  prove  to 
be  true! 

At  this  moment,  the  servant  announced  breakfast;  and  M. 
Fauvel  looked  in  the  glass  before  leaving  his  study,  to  see  if 
his  face  betrayed  the  emotion  he  felt.  He  was  shocked  at  tho 
haggard  features  which  it  reflected. 

*'  Have  I  no  nerve?^'  he  said  to  himself:  "  oh!  I  must  and 
ehiill  control  my  feelings  until  I  find  out  the  truth.^' 

At  table  he  talked  incessantly,  so  as  to  escape  any  questioni 
from  his  wife,  who,  he  saw,  was  uneasy  at  the  sight  of  his  pal© 
face. 

But,  all  the  time  he  was  talking,  he  was  casting  over  in  hia 
mind  expedients  for  getting  his  wife  out  of  the  house  long 
ecough  for  him  to  search  her  bureau. 

At  last  he  asked  Mme.  Fauvel  if  she  were  going  out  befor» 
dinner. 

"  Yes,*'  said  she:  '*  the  weather  is  dreadful,  but  Madeleine 
and  I  must  do  some  shopping." 

"  At  what  time  shall  you  go?'* 

"  Immediately  after  breakfast." 

He  drew  a  long  breath  as  if  relieved  of  a  great  weight. 

In  a  short  time  he  would  know  the  truth. 

His  uncertainty  was  so  torturing  to  the  unhappy  man  that 
jhe  preferred  the  most  dreadful  reality  to  his  present  agony. 

Breakfast  over,  he  lighted  a  cigar,  but  did  not  remain  in 
ihe  dining-room  to  smoke  it,  as  was  his  habit.  He  went  into 
the  study  to  try  and  compose  his  nerves. 

He  took  the  precaution  to  send  Lucien  on  a  message  so  as 
to  be  alone  in  the  house. 

After  the  lapse  of  half  an  hour,  he  heard  the  carriage  roll 
Away  with  his  wife  and  niece. 

Hurrying  into  Mme.  Fauvel 's  room,  he  opened  the  drawer 
of  the  chiffonier,  where  she  kept  her  jewels. 

The  last  dozen  or  more  leather  and  velvet  boxes  contain- 
ing superb  sets  of  jewelry  which  he  had.  presented  to  her  were 
gone! 

Twelve  boxes  remained.     He  nervously  opened  them. 

They  were  all  empty! 

The  anonymous  letter  had  told  the  truth. 

Vi 


354  FILE  no.  113. 

"  Oh,  it  can  not  be!"  he  gasped  in  broken  tones.  "  Oh« 
00,  no!'* 

He  wildly  pulled  open  every  drawer  in  the  vain  hope  of  find- 
ing them  packed  away.     Perhaps  she  kept  them  elsewhere. 

He  tried  to  hope  that  she  had  sent  them  to  be  reset;  but  no, 
they  were  all  superbly  set  in  the  latest  fashion;  and,  more- 
over, she  never  would  have  sent  them  all  at  once.  He  looked 
again. 

Nothing!  not  one  jewel  could  he  find. 

He  remembered  that  he  had  asked  his  wife  at  the  Jandidier 
ball  why  she  did  not  wear  her  diamonds;  and  she  had  replied 
with  a  smile: 

"  Oh!  what  is  the  use?  Everybody  knows  them  so  well: 
and,  besides,  they  don't  suit  my  costume.'' 

Yes,  she  had  made  this  answer  without  blushing,  without 
showing  the  slightest  sign  of  agitation  or  shame. 

What  barefaced  impudence!  What  base  hypocrisy  concealed 
beneath  an  innocent,  confiding  manner! 

And  she  had  been  thus  deceiving  him  for  twenty  years! 
But  suddenly  a  gleam  of  hope  penetrated  his  confused  mind 
— slightly,  barely  possible;  still  a  straw  to  cling  to — 

"  Perhaps  Valentine  has  put  her  diamonds  in  Madeleine's 
room. " 

Without  stopping  to  consider  the  indelicacy  of  what  he  was 
about  to  do,  he  hurried  into  the  young  girl's  room,  and  pulled 
open  one  drawer  after  another.     What  did  he  find? 

Not  Mme.  Fauvel's  diamonds,  but  Madeleine's  seven  or 
eight  boxes  also  empty. 

Great  heavens!  Was  this  gentle  girl,  whom  he  had  treated 
as  a  daughter,  an  accomplice  in  this  deed  of  shame?  Had 
she  contributed  her  jewelry  to  add  to  the  disgrace  of  the  roof 
that  sheltered  her? 

This  last  blow  was  almost  too  much  for  the  miserable  man. 
He  sunk  almost  lifeless  into  a  chair,  and  wringing  his  hands, 
groaned  over  the  wreck  of  his  happiness.  Was  this  the  happy 
future  to  which  he  had  looked  forward?  Was  the  fabric  of 
his  honor,  well-being,  and  domestic  bliss,  to  be  dashed  to  the 
earth  and  forever  lost  in  a  day?  Were  his  twenty  years'  labor 
and  high  standing  to  end  thus  in  shame  and  sorrow? 

Apparently,  nothing  was  changed  in  his  existence;  he  was 
not  materially  injured;  he  could  not  reach  forth  his  hand,  and 
teal  or  revenge  the  smarting  wound;  the  objects  around  him 
were  unchanged;  everything  went  on  in  the  outside  world  just 
as  it  had  gone  on  during  the  last  twenty  years;  and  yet  what 
a  horrible  change  had  taken  place  in  his  own  heart  I    While 


FILE   KO.   113.  855 

flie  world  envied  his  prosperity  and  happiness,  here  he  sat, 
more  heart-sore  and  wearied  of  hfe  than  the  worst  criminal  that 
ever  stood  before  the  inquisition. 

What!  Valentine,  the  pure  young  girl  whom  he  had  loved 
and  married  in  spite  of  her  poverty,  in  spite  of  her  cold  offer^ 
ing  of  calm  affection  in  return  for  his  passionate  devotion; 
Valentine,  the  tender,  loving  wife,  who,  before  a  year  of  mar- 
ried life  had  rolled  by,  so  often  assured  him  that  her  affection 
had  grown  into  deep,  confiding  love,  that  her  devotion  had 
grown  stronger  every  day,  and  that  her  only  prayer  was  that 
God  would  take  them  both  together,  since  life  would  be  a  bur- 
den without  her  noble  husband  to  shield  and  cherish  her— 
could  she  have  been  acting  a  lie  for  twenty  years? 

She,  the  darling  wife — the  mother  of  his  sons? 

His  sons?     Good  God!    Were  they  his  sons? 

If  she  could  deceive  him  now  when  she  was  silver-haired, 
had  she  not  deceived  him  when  she  was  young? 

Not  only  did  he  suffer  in  the  present,  but  the  uncertainty  of 
the  past  tortured  his  soul. 

He  was  like  a  man  who  is  told  that  the  exquisite  wine  he 
has  drank  contains  poison. 

Confidence  is  never  half-way;  it  is,  or  it  is  not.  His  con^ 
fidence  was  gone;  his  faith  was  dead. 

The  wretched  hanker  had  rested  his  every  hope  and  happi- 
ness on  the  love  of  his  wife.  Believing  that  she  had  proved 
faithless,  that  she  had  played  him  false,  and  was  unworthy  of 
trust,  he  admitted  no  possibility  of  peaceful  joy,  and  felt 
tempted  to  seek  consolation  from  self-destruction.  What  had 
he  to  live  for  now,  save  to  mourn  over  the  ashes  of  the  past? 

But  this  dejection  did  not  last  long.  Indignant  anger,  and 
thirst  for  vengeance,  made  him  start  up  and  swear  that  he 
would  lose  no  time  in  vain  regrets. 

M.  Fauvel  well  knew  that  the  fact  of  the  diamonds  being 
stolen  was  not  sufficient  ground  upon  which  to  bring  an  ac- 
cusation against  any  of  tha  accomplices. 

He  must  possess  overwhelming  proofs  before  taking  any 
active  steps.     Success  depended  upon  present  secrecy. 

He  began  by  calling  his  valet,  and  ordering  him  to  bring 
him  every  letter  that  should  come  to  the  house. 

He  then  wrote  to  a  notary  at  St.  Remy,  for  minute  and 
Authentic  information  about  the  Lagors  family,  and  especially 
about  Raoul. 

Finally,  following  the  advice  of  the  anonymous  letter,  ho 
♦vent  to  the  Prefecture  of  Police,  hoping  to  obtain  a  biography 
of  Clameran. 


35 G  FILE    NO.    113. 

But  the  police,  fortunately  for  many  people,  are  as  discreetly 
silent  as  the  grave.  They  guard  their  secrets  as  a  miser  hit: 
treasure. 

Nothing  but  an  order  from  the  chief  judge  could  open  those 
formidable  green  boxes,  and  reveal  their  secrets. 

M.  Fiiuvel  was  politely  asked  what  motives  urged  him  to 
inquire  into  the  past  life  of  a  French  citizen;  and,  as  he  de- 
clined to  state  his  reasons,  the  chief  of  police  told  him  he  had 
better  apply  to  the  procureur  for  the  desired  informaiton.         v 

This  aidvice  he  could  not  follow.  He  had  sworn  that  the 
secret  of  his  wrongs  should  be  confined  to  the  three  persons 
interested.  He  chose  to  avenge  his  own  injuries,  to  be  alone 
the  judge  and  executioner. 

He  returned  home  more  angry  than  ever;  there  he  found 
the  dispatch  answering  the  one  he  had  sent  to  St.  Eemy.  It 
was  as  follows: 

"  The  Lagors  are  very  poor,  and  there  never  has  been  any 
member  of  the  family  named  Raoul.  Madame  Lagors  had  no 
son,  only  two  daughters. '' 

This  information  dashed  his  last  hope. 

The  banker  thought,  when  he  discovered  his  wife's  infamy, 
that  she  had  sinned  as  deeply  as  woman  could  sin;  but  he 
now  saw  that  she  had  practiced  a  system  more  shocking  than 
the  crime  itself. 

"Wretched  creature!"  he  cried,  with  anguish:  "in  order 
to  see  her  lover  constantly,  she  dared  introduce  him  to  me 
under  the  name  of  a  nephew  who  never  existed.  She  had  the 
shameless  courage  to  bring  him  beneath  her  husband's  root, 
and  seat  him  at  my  fireside,  between  my  sons;  and  I,  confid- 
ing fool  that  I  was,  .welcomed  the  villain,  and  lent  him 
money." 

Nothing  could  equal  the  pain  of  wounded  pride  and  mortifi- 
cation which  he  suffered  at  the  thought  that  Raoul  and  Mme. 
Fauvel  had  amused  themselves  with  bis  good-natured  credulity 
and  obtuseness. 

Nothing  but  death  could  wipe  out  an  injury  of  this  nature. 
But  the  very  bitterness  of  his  resentment  enabled  him  to  re- 
strain himself  until  the  time  for  punishment  came.  With 
grim  satisfaction  he  promised  himself  that  his  acting  would  be 
as  successful  as  theirs. 

That  day  he  succeeded  in  concealing  his  agitation,  and  kept 
up  a  flow  of  talk  at  dinner;  but  at  about  nine  o'clock,  when 
Clameran  called  on  the  ladies,  he  rushed  from  the  house,  for 
Cear  that  he  would  be  unable  to  control  his  indignation  at  the 


PILE  NO.  113.  357 

sight  of  this  destroyer  of  his  happiness;  and  did  not  return 
home  until  late  in  the  night. 

The  next  day  he  reaped  the  fruit  of  his  prudence. 

Among  the  letters  which  his  valet  brought  him  at  noon,  was 
one  bearing  the  postmark  of  Vesinet. 

He  carefully  opened  the  envelope  and  read : 

*'  Dear  Aunt, — It  is  imperatively  necessary  for  me  to  see 
you  to-day;  so  do  not  fail  to  come  to  Vesinet. 

"  I  will  explain  why  I  give  you  this  trouble,  instead  of  call- 
ing at  your  house.  Eaoul.  " 

*'  I  have  them  now!'*  cried  M.  Fauvel,  trembling  with  sat- 
isfaction at  the  near  prospect  of  vengeance. 

Eager  to  lose  no  time,  he  opened  a  drawer,  took  out  a  re- 
volver, and  examined  the  hammer  to  see  if  it  worked  easily. 

He  imagined  himself  alone,  but  a  vigilant  eye  was  watching 
his  movements.  Gipsy,  immediately  upon  her  return  from 
the  Archangel,  stationed  herself  at  the  key-hole  of  the  study- 
door,  a*id  saw  all  that  occurred. 

M.  Fauvel  laid  the  pistol  on  the  mantel-piece,  and  nervously 
resealed  the  letter,  which  he  then  took  to  the  box  where  the 
letters  were  usually  left,  not  wishing  any  one  to  know  that 
KaouFs  letter  had  passed  through  his  hands. 

He  was  only  absent  two  minutes,  but,  inspired  by  the  im- 
minence of  the  danger,  Gipsy  darted  into  the  study,  and 
rapidly  extracted  the  balls  from  the  revolver. 

"  Thank  Heaven!'*  she  murmured;  "  this  peril  is  averted, 
And  Monsieur  Verduret  will  now  perhaps  have  time  to  prevent 
a  murder.     I  must  send  Cavaillon  to  tell  him." 

She  hurried  into  the  bank,  and  sent  the  clerk  with  a  mes- 
sage, telling  him  to  leave  it  with  Mme.  Alexandre,  if  M.  Ver- 
duret had  left  the  hotel. 

An  hour  later,  Mme.  Fauvel  ordered  her  carriage,  and  went 
oat. 

M.   Fauyel  jumped  into  a  hackney-coach,  and  followed 
her. 

*'  God  grant  that  Monsieur  Verduret  may  reach  there  in 
time!"  cried  Nina  to  herself,  "  otherwise  Madame  Fauvel  and 
Raoul  are  lost." 


CHAPTER   XXIV. 

The  moment  that  the  Marquis  of  Clameran  j)erceived  that 
Raoul  de  Lagors  was  the  only  obstacle  between  him  and  Made* 
ieine,  he  swore  that  the  obstacle  should  soon  be  removed. 


368  FILE    NO.    113. 

That  very  day  he  took  steps  for  the  accomplishment  of  hU 
purpose.  As  Kaoul  was  walking  out  to  Vesinet  about  mid- 
night, he  was  stopped  at  a  ioueJy  spot  by  three  men,  who 
asked  him  what  o'clock  it  was;  while  looking  at  his  watch,  the 
ruffians  fell  upon  him  suddenly,  and  but  for  Raoul's  wonder- 
ful strength  and  agility,  would  have  left  him  dead  on  the 
spot. 

As  it  was,  he  soon,  by  his  skillfully  plied  blows  (for  he  had 
become  a  proficient  in  fencing  and  boxing  in  England),  made 
his  enemies  take  to  their  heels. 

He  quietly  continued  his  walk  home,  fully  determined  to  be 
hereafter  well  armed  when  he  went  out  at  night. 

He  never  for  an  instant  suspected  his  accomplice  of  having 
instigated  the  assault. 

But  two  days  afterward,  while  sitting  in  a  cafe,  a  burly, 
vulgar-looking  man,  a  stranger  to  him,  interrupted  him  sev- 
eral times  while  talking,  and,  after  making  several  rough 
speeches,  as  if  trying  to  provoke  a  quarrel,  finally  threw  a 
card  in  his  face,  saying  its  owner  was  ready  to  grant  him  satis- 
faction when  and  where  he  pleased. 

Eaoul  rushed  toward  the  man  to  chastise  him  on  the  spot; 
but  his  friends  held  him  back,  telling  him  it  would  be  much 
more  gentlemanly  to  run  a  sword  through  his  vulgar  hide, 
than  have  a  scuffle  in  a  public  place. 

"  Very  well,  then;  you  will  hear  from  me  to-morrow,'*  he 
said,  scornfully,  to  his  assailant.  "  Wait  at  your  hotel  until  I 
send  two  friends  to  arrange  the  matter  with  you." 

As  soon  as  the  stranger  had  left,  Raoul  recovered  from  his 
excitement,  and  began  to  wonder  what  could  have  been  the 
motive  for  this  evidently  premeditated  insult. 

Picking  up  the  card  of  the  bully,  he  read: 

W.  H.  B.  Jacobson, 

Formerly  Oaribaldian  volunteer. 

Ex-officer  of  the  army  of  the  Sonth, 

(Italy,  America.) 

30  Rue  Leonie. 

Raoul  had  seen  enough  of  the  world  to  know  that  these 
heroes  who  cover  their  visiting-cards  with  titles  have  very  lit- 
tle glory  elsewhere  than  in  their  own  conceit. 

Still  the  insult  had  been  offered  in  the  presence  of  others, 
and,  no  matter  who  the  offender  was,  it  must  be  noticed. 
Early  the  next  morning  Raoul  sent  two  of  his  friends  to  make 
arrangements  for  a  duel     He  gave  them  M.  Jacobson's  ad- 


nLE  NO.  113.  359 

dress,  and  told  them  to  report  at  the  H6tel  du  Louvre,  where' 
he  would  wait  for  them. 

Having  dismissed  his  friends,  Eaoul  went  out  to  find  oui 
something  about  M.  Jacobson;  and,  being  an  expert  at  the 
business  of  unraveling  plots  and  snares,  he  determined  to  dis- 
cover who  was  at  the  bottom  of  this  duel  into  which  he  had 
been  decoyed. 

The  information  obtained  was  not  very  promising. 

M.  Jacobson,  who  lived  in  a  very  suspicious-looking  little 
hotel  whose  inmates  were  women  of  light  character,  was  de- 
Ecribed  as  an  eccentric  gentleman,  whose  mode  of  life  was  a 
problem  difficult  to  solve.    No  one  knew  his  means  of  support. 

He  reigned  despotically  in  the  hotel,  went  out  a  great  deal, 
never  came  in  until  midnight,  and  seemed  to  have  no  capital 
to  live  upon,  save  his  military  titles,  and  a  talent  for  carrying 
out  whatever  was  undertaken  for  his  own  benefit. 

"  That  being  his  character,"  thoughb  Raoul,  *'I  can  not 
see  what  object  he  can  have  in  picking  a  quarrel  with  me. 
What  good  will  it  do  him  to  run  a  sword  through  my  body? 
Not  the  slightest;  and,  moreover,  his  pugnacious  conduct  is 
apt  to  draw  the  attention  of  the  police,  who,  from  what  I 
hear,  are  the  last  people  this  warrior  would  like  to  have  after 
him.  Therefore  he  must  have  some  reason  for  pursuing  me; 
and  I  must  find  out  what  it  is.'* 

The  result  of  his  meditations  was,  that  Eaoul,  upon  his  re- 
turn to  the  Hotel  du  'Louvre,  did  not  mention  a  word  of  his 
adventure  to  Clameran,  whom  he  found  already  up. 

At  half  past  eight  his  seconds  arrived. 

M.  Jacobson  had  selected  the  sword,  and  would  fight  that 
very  hour,  in  the  woods  of  Vincennes. 

"  Well,  come  along,''  cried  Eaoul,  gayly.  "I  accept  the 
gentleman's  conditions." 

They  found  the  Garibaldian  waiting;  and  after  an  inter- 
change of  a  few  thrusts,  Eaoul  was  slightly  wounded  in  the 
right  shoulder. 

The  "  Ex-officer  of  the  South"  wished  to  continue  the  com- 
bat; but  Eaoul 's  seconds — brave  young  men — declared  that 
honor  was  satisfied,  and  that  they  had  no  intention  of  sub- 
jecting their  friend's  life  to  unnecessary  hazards. 

The  ex-officer  was  forced  to  admit  that  this  was  but  fair, 
and  unwillingly  retired  from  the  field.  Eaoul  went  home  de- 
lighted at  having  escaped  with  nothing  more  serious  than  a 
little  loss  of  blood,  and  resolved  to  keep  clear  of  all  so-called 
Garibaldians  in  the  future. 

in  fact,  a  night's  refiection  had  convinced  faim  that  Olame' 


36d  FILE   NO.    113. 

ran  was  the  instigator  of  the  two  attempts  to  kill  him, 
Mme.  Fauvel  having  told  him  what  conditions  Madelein« 
placed  on  her  consent  to  marriage,  Eaoul  instantly  saw  how 
necessary  his  removal  would  be,  now  that  he  was  an  impedi* 
nient  in  the  way  of  Clameran's  success.  He  recalled  a  thou* 
sand  little  remarks  and  events  of  the  last  few  days,  and,  on 
skillfully  questioning  the  marquis,  had  his  suspicions  changed 
into  certainty. 

This  conviction  that  the  man  whom  he  had  so  materially 
assisted  in  his  criminal  plans  was  so  basely  ungrateful  as  to 
turn  against  him  and  hire  assassins  to  murder  him  in  cold 
blood,  inspired  in  Raoul  a  resolution  to  take  speedy  vengeance 
upon  his  treacherous  accomplice,  and  at  the  same  time  insure 
his  own  safety. 

Tliis  treason  seemed  monstrous  to  Eaoul.  He  was  as  yet 
not  sufficiently  experienced  in  ruffianism  to  know  that  one 
villain  always  sacrifices  another  to  advance  his  own  projects; 
he  was  credulous  enough  to  believe  in  the  adage,  there's 
honor  among  thieves.'^ 

His  rage  was  naturally  mingled  with  fright,  well  knowing 
that  his  life  hung  by  a  thread,  when  it  was  threatened  by  a 
daring  scoundrel  like  Clameran. 

He  had  thrice  miraculously  escaped;  a  third  attempt  would 
more  than  likely  prove  fatal. 

Knowing  his  accomplice's  nature,  Raoul  saw  himself  sur- 
rounded by  snares;  he  saw  death  before  him  in  every  form; 
he  was  equally  afraid  of  going  out  and  of  remaining  at  home. 
He  only  ventured  with  the  most  suspicious  caution  into  the 
most  public  places;  he  feared  poison  more  than  the  assassin's 
knife,  and  imagined  that  every  dish  placed  before  him  tasted 
of  strychnine. 

As  this  life  of  torture  was  intolerable,  he  determined  to 
anticipate  a  struggle  which  he  felt  must  terminate  in  the 
ieath  of  either  Clameran  or  himself,  and,  if  he  were  doomed 
to  die,  to  be  first  revenged.  If  he  went  down,  Clameran 
should  go  too;  bettor  k;ll  the  devil  than  be  killed  by  him. 

In  his  days  of  poverty,  Eaoul  had  often  risked  his  life  to 
obtain  a  few  guineas,  and  would  not  have  hesitated  to  make 
short  work  of  a  person  like  Clameran. 

But  with  money  prudence  had  come.  He  wished  to  enjoj 
his  four  hundred  thousand  francs  without  being  compromised 
by  committing  a  murder  which  might  be  discovered;  h£  there- 
fore began  to  devise  some  other  means  of  getting  rid  of  hig 
dreaded  accomplice.  Meanwhile,  he  devoted  his  thoughts  to 
some  discreet  way  of   thwarting  Clameran's  marriage  with 


tILE    NO.    113.  M\ 

Madeleine.     ITe  was  sure  that  he  would  thus  strike  him  to  the 
heart,  aud  this  was  at  least  a  satisfaetion. 

Kaoul  was  persuaded  that,  by  opealy  siding  with  Madeleine 
and  her  aunt,  he  could  save  them  from  Clameran's  clutches. 
Having  fully  resolved  upon  this  course,  he  wrote  a  note  to 
Mme.  Fauvel  asking  for  an  interview. 

The  poor  woman  liastened  to  Vesinet  convinced  that  some 
new  misfortune  was  in  store  for  her. 

Her  alarm  was  groundless.  She  found  Raoul  more  tender 
and  affectionate  tlian  he  had  ever  been.  He  saw  the  necessity 
of  reassuring  her,  and  winning  his  old  place  in  her  forgiving 
heart,  before  making  his  disclosures. 

He  succeeded.  The  poor  lady  had  a  smiling  and  happy  air 
as  she  sat  in  an  arm-chair,  with  Eaoul  kneeling  before  her. 

"  I  have  distressed  you  too  long,  my  dear  mother,*'  he  said 
in  his  softest  tones,  "  but  I  repent  sincerely;  now  listen  to 
my—" 

He  had  not  time  to  say  more:  the  door  was  violently  thrown 
open,  and  Eaoul,  springing  to  his  feet,  was  confronted  by  M. 
Fauvel. 

The  banker  had  a  revolver  in  his  hand,  and  was  deadly  pale. 

It  was  evident  that  he  was  making  superhuman  efforts  to 
remain  calm,  like  a  judge  whose  duty  it  is  to  justly  punish 
crime. 

"  Ah,"  he  said,  with  ahorrible  laugh,  "  you  look  surprised. 
You  did  not  expect  me?  You  thought  that  my  imbecile 
credulity  insured  your  safety." 

Eaoul  had  the  courage  to  place  himself  before  Mme.  Fauvel, 
and  to  stand  prepared  to  receive  the  expected  bullet. 

*'  I  assure  you,  uncle — "  he  began. 

*'  Enough!"  interrupted  the  banker  with  an  angry  gesture, 
"  let  me  hear  no  more  infamous  falsehoods!  End  this  acting, 
of  which  I  am  no  longer  the  dupe.*' 

"  I  swear  to  you — " 

**  Spare  yourself  the  trouble  of  denying  anything.  I  know 
all.  I  know  who  pawned  my  wife's  diamonds.  I  know  who 
committed  the  robbery  for  which  an  innocent  man  was 
arrested  and  imprisoned." 

Mme.  Fauvel,  white  with  terror,  fell  upon  her  knees. 

At  last  it  had  come — the  dreadful  day  had  come.  Vainly 
had  she  added  falsehood  to  falsehood;  vainly  had  she  sacrificed 
herself  and  others:  all  was  discovered. 

She  saw  that  all  was  lost,  and  wringing  her  hands  she  teM> 
fully  moaned: 

Poidou,  Andrei    I  beg  you.  forgive  mel'* 


562  FILE   KO.    113. 

At  these  heart-broken  tones,  the  banker  shook  like  a  leal 
This  voice  brought  before  him  the  twenty  years  of  happinesg 
which  he  had  owed  to  this  woman,  who  had  always  been  the 
mistress  of  his  heart,  whose  slightest  wish  had  been  his  law, 
and  who,  by  a  smile  or  a  frown,  could  make  him  the  happiest 
or  the  most  miserable  of  men.  Alas!  those  days  were  over 
now. 

Could  this  wretched  woman  crouching  at  his  feet  be  his  be- 
loved Valentine,  the  pure,  innocent  girl  whom  he  had  found 
secluded  in  the  Chateau  of  La  Verberie,  who  had  never  loved 
any  other  than  himself?  Could  this  be  the  cherished  wife 
whom  he  had  worshiped  for  so  many  years? 

The  memory  of  his  lost  happiness  was  too  much  for  the 
stricken  man.  He  forgot  the  present  in  the  past,  and  was 
almost  melted  to  forgiveness. 

"Unhappy  woman!"  he  murmured,  "unhappy  woman! 
What  have  I  done  that  you  should  thus  betray  me!  Ah,  my 
only  fault  was  loving  you  too  deeply,  and  letting  you  see  it. 
One  wearies  of  everything  in  this  world,  even  happiness.  Did 
pure  domestic  joys  pall  upon  you  and  weary  you,  driving  you 
to  seek  the  excitement  of  sinful  passion?  Were  you  so  tired 
of  the  atmosphere  of  respect  and  affection  which  surrounded 
you  that  you  must  needs  risk  your  honor  and  mine  by  braving 
public  opinion?  Oh,  into  what  an  abyss  you  have  fallen,  Val- 
entine! and  oh,  my  God!  if  you  were  wearied  by  my  constant 
devotion,  had  the  thought  of  your  children  no  power  to  re- 
strain your  evil  passions;  could  you  not  remain  untarnished  for 
their  sake?" 

M.  Fauvel  spoke  slowly,  with  painful  effort,  as  if  each  word 
choked  him. 

Eaoul,  who  listened  with  attention,  saw  that  if  the  banker 
knew  some  things  he  certainly  did  not  know  all. 

He  saw  that  erroneous  information  had  misled  the  unhappy 
man,  and  that  he  was  still  a  victim  of  false  appearances. 

He  determined  to  convince  him  of  the  mistake  under  which 
he  was  laboring,  and  said. 

"  Monsieur,  I  hope  you  will  listen." 

But  the  sound  of  Raoul's  voice  was  sufficient  to  break  the 
charm. 

"  Silence!"  cried  the  banker,  with  an  angry  oath; "  silence!*'' 

For  some  moments  nothing  was  heard  but  the  sobs  of  Mme. 
Fauvel. 

*'  I  came  here,"  continued  the  banker,  *'  with  the  intention 
of  killing  you  both.  But  I  can  not  kill  a  womai^,  and  I  will 
got  kill  an  unarmed  man. " 


PILE  NO.  113.  363 

Raonl  once  more  tried  to  speak. 

"Let  me  finish!"  interrupted  M.  Fauvel.  "Your  life  i6> 
in  my  hands;  the  law  excuses  the  vengeance  of  an  injured 
husband,  but  I  refuse  to  take  advantage  of  it.  I  see  on  your 
mantle  a  revolver  similar  to  mine;  take  it,  and  defend  your» 
self. " 

"  Never!*' 

"  Defend  yourself!'*  cried  the  banker,  raising  his  arm,  *'  if 
you  do  not — " 

Feeling  the  barrel  of  M.  Fauvel 's  revolver  touch  his  breast, 
Raoul,  in  self-defense,  seized  his  own  pistol,  and  prepared  to 
fire. 

"Stand  in  that  corner  of  the  room,  and  I  will  stand  in 
this,"  continued  the  banker;  "  and  when  the  clock  strikes, 
which  will  be  in  a  few  seconds,  we  will  both  fire." 

They  took  the  places  designated,  and  stood  perfectly  still. 

But  the  horror  of  the  scene  was  too  much  for  Mme.  Fauvel 
to  witness  any  longer  without  interposing.  She  understood 
but  one  thing:  her  son  and  her  husband  were  about  to  kill 
each  other  before  her  very  eyes.  Fright  and  horror  gave  her 
strength  to  start  up  and  rush  between  the  two  men. 

"  For  God's  sake,  have  mercy,  Andre!"  she  cried,  wringing 
her  hands  with  anguish,  "let  me  tell  you  everything;  don't 
kill—" 

This  burst  of  maternal  love,  M.  Fauvel  thought  the  plead- 
ings of  a  criminal  woman  defending  her  lover. 

He  roughly  seized  his  wife  by  the  arm,  and  thrusi  her  aside, 
saying  with  indignant  scorn: 

"  Get  out  of  the  way!" 

But  she  would  not  be  repulsed:  rushing  up  to  Raoul,  she 
threw  her  arms  around  him,  and  said  to  her  husband: 

"  Kill  me,  and  me  alone;  for  I  am  the  guilty  one!" 

At  these  words  M.  Fauvel  glared  at  the  guilty  pair,  and,  de- 
liberately taking  aim,  fired. 

Neither  Eaoul  nor  Mme.  Fauvel  moved.  The  banker  fired 
a  second  time;  then  a  third. 

He  cocked  the  pistol  for  a  fourth  shot,  when  a  man  rushed 
into  the  room,  snatched  the  pistol  from  the  banker's  hand, 
and,  throwing  him  on  the  sofa,  ran  toward  Mme.  Fauvel. 

This  man  was  M.  Verduret,  who  had  been  warned  by 
Cavaillon,  but  did  not  know  that  Mme.  Gipsy  had  extracted 
the  balls  from  M.  Fauvel's  revolver. 

"  Thank  Heaven!"  he  cried,  "  she  is  unhurt." 

**  How  dare  you  interfere:"  cried  the  banker,  who  by  this 


364  PILE  NO.  113. 

time  had  joined  the  group.  "I  have  the  right  to  avenge  roj 
honor  when  it  has  been  degraded;  the  villain  siiall  die!^' 

M.  Verduret  seized  the  banker's  wrists  in  a  vise-like  grasp, 
and  whispered  in  his  ear: 

**  Thank  God,  you  are  saved  from  committing  a  terrible 
crime;  the  anonymous  letter  deceived  you. '* 

In  violent  situations  like  this,  all  the  untoward,  strange  at- 
tending circumstances  appear  perfectly  natural  to  the  partici- 
pators, whose  passions  have  already  carried  them  beyond  the 
limits  of  social  propriety. 

Thus  M.  Fauvel  never  once  thought  of  asking  this  stranger 
who  he  was  and  where  he  came  from. 

He  heard  and  understood  but  one  fact;  the  anonymous  let- 
ter had  lied. 

*'  But  my  wife  confesses  she  is  guilty,'^  he  stammered. 

"  So  she  is,**  replied  M.  Verduret;  "  but  not  of  the  crime 
you  imagine.  Do  you  know  who  that  man  is,  that  you  at- 
tempted to  kill?** 

"  Her  lover!" 

"  No;  her  sonl*' 

The  words  of  this  stranger,  showing  his  intimate  knowledge 
of  the  private  affairs  of  all  present,  seemed  to  confound  and 
frighten  Raoul  more  than  M.  FauvePs  threats  had  done.  Yet 
he  had  sufficient  presence  of  mind  to  say: 

"  It  IS  the  truth!" 

The  banker  looked  wildly  from  Raoul  to  M.  Verduret;  then, 
fastening  his  haggard  eyes  on  his  wife,  exclaimed: 

"  It  is  false!  you  are  all  conspiring  to  deceive  me!    Proofs!*' 

**  You  shall  have  proofs,**  replied  M.  Verduret;  "  but  first 
listen.** 

And  rapidly,  with  his  wonderful  talent  for  exposition,  he 
related  the  principal  points  of  the  plot  he  had  discovered. 

The  true  state  of  the  case  was  terribly  distressing  to  M. 
Fauvel,  but  nothing  compared  with  what  he  had  suspected. 

His  throbbing,  yearning  heart  told  him  that  he  still  loved 
his  wife.  Why  should  he  punish  a  fault  committed  so  many 
years  ago,  and  atoned  for  by  twenty  years  of  devotion  and 
suffering? 

For  some  moments  after  M.  Verduret  had  finished  his  ex- 
planation, M.  Fauvel  remained  silent. 

So  many  strange  events  had  happened,  rapidly  following 
each  other  in  succession,  and  culminating  in  the  shocking 
Bcene  which  had  just  taken  place,  that  M.  Fauvel  seemed  Ul 
be  too  bewildared  to  think  clearly. 


FILE   KO.   113.  365 

If  his  heart  counseled  pardon  and  forgetfulness,  wounded 
pride  and  self-respect  demanded  vengeance. 

If  Eaoul,  the  baleful  witness,  thelivingproof  of  a  far-off  sin, 
were  not  in  existence,  M.  Fauvel  would  not  have  hesitated. 
Gaston  de  Clameran  was  dead;  he  would  have  held  out  hii 
arms  to  his  wife  and  said: 

*'  Come  to  my  heart!  your  sacrifices  for  my  honor  shall  bo 
your  absolution;  let  the  sad  past  be  forgotten.'* 

But  the  sight  of  Eaoul  froze  the  words  upon  his  lips. 

"  So  this  is  your  son,"  he  said  to  his  wife — "  this  man, 
who  has  plundered  you  and  robbed  me!*' 

Mme.  Fauvel  was  unable  to  utter  a  word  in  reply  to  these 
reproachful  words. 

"  Oh!'*  said  M.  Verduret,  "  madame  will  tell  you  that  this 
young  man  is  the  son  of  Gaston  de  Clameran;  she  has  never 
doubted  it.     But,  the  truth  is — " 

"  What?" 

*'  That,  in  order  to  swindle  her,  he  has  perpetrated  a  gross 
imposture." 

During  the  last  few  minutes  Eaoul  had  been  quietly  creeping 
toward  the  door,  hoping  to  escape  while  no  one  was  thinking  of 
him. 

But  M.  Verduret,  who  anticipated  his  intention,  was  watch- 
ing him  out  of  the  corner  of  one  eye,  and  stopped  him  just  as 
he  was  about  leaving  the  room. 

*'  Not  so  fast,  my  pretty  youth,"  he  said,  dragging  him  into 
the  middle  of  the  room;  "  it  is  not  polite  to  leave  us  so  un- 
ceremoniously. Let  us  have  a  little  conversation  before  part- 
ing; a  little  explanation  will  be  edifying." 

The  jeering  words  and  mocking  manner  of  M.  Verduret 
made  Eaoul  turn  deadly  pale,  and  start  back  as  if  confronted 
by  a  phantom. 

*'  The  clown!"  he  gasped. 

"  The  same,  friend,"  said  the  fat  man.  **  Ah,  now  that 
you  recognize  me,  I  confess  that  the  clown  and  myself  are  one 
and  the  same.  Yes,  I  am  the  mountebank  of  the  Jandidier 
ball;  here  is  proof  of  it." 

And  turning  up  his  sleeve  he  showed  a  deep  cut  on  his  arm. 

'*I  think  that  this  recent  wound  will  convince  you  of  mj 
identity,"  he  continued.  "I  imagine  you  know  the  villaii 
that  gave  me  this  little  decoration,  that  night  I  was  walkin ' 
along  the  Eue  Bourdaloue.  That  being  the  case,  you  know,  I 
have  a  slight  claim  upon  you,  and  shall  expect  you  to  relate  tc 
us  your  little  story. " 

Dut  Eaoul  was  so  terrified  that  he  oould  not  utter  a  word. 


366  FILE  NO.  113. 

"  Your  modesty  keeps  you  silent,"  said  M.  Verdnret. 
"Bravo!  modesty  becomes  talent,  and  for  one  of  your  ago 
you  certainly  have  displayed  a  talent  for  knavery.'* 

M.  Fauvel  listened  without  understanding  a  word  of  what 
was  said. 

"  Into  what  dark  depths  of  shame  have  we  fallen!*'  he 
groaned. 

"  Eeaesure  yourself,  monsieur,*'  replied  M.  Verduret,  with 
great  respect.  "  After  what  I  have  been  constrained  to  tell 
you,  what  remains  to  be  said  is  a  mere  trifle.  I  will  finish 
the  st;ory. 

*'  On  leaving  Mihonne,  who  had  given  him  a  full  account  of 
the  misfortunes  of  Mile.  Valentine  de  la  Verberie,  Clameran 
hastened  to  London. 

"  He  had  no  difficulty  in  finding  the  farmer's  wife  to  whoiq 
the  old  countess  had  intrusted  (Taston*s  son. 

But  here  an  unexpected  disappointment  greeted  him. 

"He  learned  that  the  child,  whose  name  was  registered  on 
the  parish  books  as  Raoul-Valentine  Wilson,  had  died  of  tho 
croup  when  eighteen  months  old.  ** 

"  Did  any  one  state  such  a  fact  as  that?"  interrupted 
Kaoul:  "  it  is  false!** 

"  It  was  not  only  stated,  but  proved,  my  pretty  youth,"  re- 
plied M.  Verduret.  "  You  don't  suppose  I  am  a  man  to 
trust  to  oral  testimony,  do  you?** 

He  drew  from  his  pocket  several  officially  stamped  docu- 
ments, with  red  seals  attached,  and  laid  them  on  the  table. 

"  These  are  the  declarations  of  the  nurse,  her  husband,  and 
four  witnesses.  Here  is  an  extract  from  the  register  of  births; 
this  is  a  certificate  of  registry  of  his  death;  and  all  these  aro 
authenticated  at  the  French  Embassy.  Now  are  you  satisfied, 
young  man?'* 

"  What  next?  inquired  M.  Fauvel. 

"  The  next  step  was  this,*'  replied  M.  Verduret.  "  Clame- 
ran, finding  that  the  child  was  dead,  supposed  that  he  could 
in  spite  of  this  disappointment,  obtain  money  from  Mme 
Fauvel;  he  was  mistaken.  His  first  attempt  failed.  Having 
an  inventivs  turn  of  mind,  he  determined  that  the  child  should 
come  to  life.  Among  his  large  circle  of  rascally  acquaint- 
ances, he  selected  a  young  fellow  to  personate  Eaoul- Valentin© 
Wilson;  and  the  chosen  one  stands  before  you." 

Mme.  Fauvel  was  in  a  pitiable  state.  And  yet  she  began  to 
feel  a  ray  of  hope;  her  acute  anxiety  had  so  long  tortured  her, 
that  the  truth  was  a  relief;  she  would  thank  Heaven  if  thil 
wicked  man  was  proved  to  be  no  son  of  hers. 


FILE  NO.  113.  367 

**  Can  this  be  possible?"  she  murmured;  **  can  it  be?** 

''*  Impossible!"  cried  the  banker;  "  an  infamous  plot  like 
this  could  not  be  executed  in  our  midsf 

"  All  this  is  false!"  said  Raoul,  boldly;  "  it  is  a  lie!'' 

M.  Yerduret  turned  to  Raoul,  and,  bowing  with  ironical 
respect,  said: 

"  Monsieur  desires  proofs,  does  he?  Monsieur  shall  cer- 
tainly have  convincing  ones.  I  have  just  left  a  friend  of 
mine.  Monsieur  Palot,  who  brought  me  valuable  information 
from  London.  Now,  my  young  gentleman,  I  will  tell  you 
the  little  story  he  told  me,  and  then  you  can  give  your  opinion 
of  it. 

*'  In  1847  Lord  Murray,  a  wealthy  and  generous  nobleman, 
had  a  jockey  named  Spencer,  of  whom  he  was  very  fond.  At 
the  Epsom  races,  this  jockey  was  thrown  from  his  horse  and 
killed.  Lord  Murray  grieved  over  the  loss  of  his  favorite, 
and,  having  no  children  of  his  own,  declared  his  intention  of 
adopting  Spencer's  son,  who  was  then  but  four  years  old. 

"  Thus  James  Spencer  was  brought  up  in  affluence,  as  heir 
to  the  immense  wealth  of  the  noble  lord.  He  was  a  handsome, 
intelligent  boy,  and  gave  satisfaction  to  his  protector  until  he 
was  sixteen  years  of  age;  when  he  became  intimate  with  a 
worthless  set  of  people,  and  turned  out  badly. 

"  Lord  Murray,  who  was  very  indulgent,  pardoned  many 
grave  faults;  but  one  fine  morning  he  discovered  that  his 
adopted  son  had  been  imitating  his  signature  upon  some 
checks.  He  indignantly  dismissed  him  from  his  house,  and 
told  him  never  to  show  his  face  again. 

*'  James  Spencer  had  been  living  in  London  about  four 
years,  managing  to  support  himself  by  gambling  and  swind- 
ling, when  he  met  Clameran,  who  offered  him  twenty-five 
thousand  francs  to  play  a  part  in  a  little  comedy  which  he 
had  arranged  lo  suit  the  actors. " 

"  You  are  a  detective!"  interrupted  Raoul. 

The  fat  mi\n  smiled  grimly. 

"  At  present,"  he  replied,  "  I  am  merely  a  friend  of  Pros- 
per Bertomy.  It  depends  entirely  upon  your  behavior  which 
character  I  appear  in  while  settling  up  this  little  affair." 

"  What  do  you  expect  me  to  do?" 

"  Restore  the  three  hundred  and  fifty  thousand  francs  which 
you  have  stolen. " 

The  young  rascal  hesitated  a  moment,  and  then  said: 

"  The  money  is  in  this  room." 

"  Very  good-  This  frankness  is  creditable,  and  will  benefit 
yon.     I  know  that  the  money  is  in  this  room,  and  also  exactly 


368  FILE    NO.    113. 

where  it  is  to  be  found.  Be  kind  enough  to  look  behind  that 
cupboard,  and  you  will  find  the  three  hundred  and  fifty  thous- 
and francs. " 

Eaoul  saw  that  his  game  was  lost.  He  tremblingly  went 
to  the  cupboard,  and  pulled  out  several  bundles  of  bank- 
notes, and  an  enormous  package  of  pawnbroker's  tickets. 

"Very  well  done,"  said  M.  Verduret,  as  he  carefully  ex- 
amined the  money  and  papers;  "  this  is  the  most  sensible 
step  you  ever  took.'' 

Eaoul  relied  on  this  moment,  when  everybody's  attention 
would  be  absorbed  by  the  money,  to  make  his  escape.  He  slid 
toward  the  door,  gently  opened  it,  slipped  out,  and  locked  it 
on  the  outside;  the  key  being  still  in  the  lock. 

"  He  has  escaped!"  cried  M.  Fauvel. 

"  Naturally,"  replied  M.  Verduret,  without  even  looking 
up;  *'  I  thought  he  would  have  sense  enough  to  do  that." 

"  But  is  he  to  go  unpunished?" 

"  My  dear  sir,  would  you  have  this  affair  become  a  public 
iscandal?  Do  you  wish  your  wife's  name  to  be  brought  into  a 
case  of  this  nature  before  the  police  court.'^" 

"  Oh,  monsieur!" 

"  Then  the  best  thing  you  can  do  is  to  let  the  rascal  go  scot 
free.     Here  are  receipts  for  all  the  articles  which  he  has 

gawned,  so  that  we  should  consider  ourselves  fortunate.  He 
as  kept  fifty  thousand  francs,  but  that  is  all  the  better  for 
you.  This  sum  will  enable  him  to  leave  France,  and  we  shall 
never  see  him  again." 

Like  every  one  else,  M.  Fauvel  yielded  to  the  ascendency  of 
M.  Verduret. 

Gradually  he  had  awakened  to  the  true  state  of  affairs; 
prospective  happiness  no  longer  seemed  impossible,  and  he  felt 
that  he  was  indebted  to  the  man  before  him  for  more  than  life. 
But  for  M.  Verduret,  where  would  have  been  his  honor  and 
domestic  peace? 

With  honest  gratitude  he  seized  M.  Verduret's  hand  as  if  to 
carry  it  to  his  lips,  and  said  in  broken  tones: 

*'  Oh,  monsieur!  how  can  I  ever  find  words  to  express  how 
deeply  I  appreciate  your  kindness?  How  can  I  ever  repay  the 
great  service  you  have  rendered  me?" 

M.  Verduret  reflected  a  moment,  and  then  said: 

"  If  you  feel  under  any  obligations  to  me,  monsieur,  you 
Have  it  in  your  power  to  return  them.  I  have  a  favor  to  ask 
of  you. " 

"  A  favor?  you  ask  of  me?  Speak,  monsieur,  you  have  but 
to  name  it.     My  fortune  and  life  art>  at  your  disposal." 


FILE    NO.    113.  369 

*'  I  will  not  hesitate,  then,  to  explain  myself.  I  am  Pros- 
per's  friend,  and  deeply  interested  in  his  future.  You  can 
exonerate  him  from  this  infamous  charge  of  robbery;  you  can 
restore  him  to  his  honorable  position.  You  can  do  more  than 
this,  monsieur.     He  loves  Mademoiselle  Madeleine.'' 

"  Madeleine  shall  be  his  wife,  monsieur,''  interrupted  the 
banker;  "  I  give  you  my  word  of  honor.  And  I  will  so  pub- 
licly exonerate  him  that  not  a  shadow  of  suspicion  will  rest 
upon  his  name.  I  will  place  him  in  a  position  which  will 
prevent  slander  from  reproaching  him  with  the  painful  re- 
membrance of  my  fatal  error." 

The  fat  man  quietly  took  up  his  hat  and  cane  as  if  he  had 
been  paying  an  ordinary  morning  call,  and  turned  to  leave  the 
room,  after  saying  "  Good-morning."  But,  seeing  the  weep- 
ing woman  raise  her  clasped  hands  appealingly  toward  him, 
he  said,  hesitatingly: 

"  Monsieur,  excuse  my  intruding  any  advice;  but  Madame 
Fauvel — " 

*'  Andre!'*  murmured  the  wretched  wife,  "  Andrei" 

The  banker  hesitated  a  moment;  then,  following  the  im- 
pulse of  his  heart,  ran  to  his  wife,  and  clasping  her  in  hia 
arms,  said  tenderly: 

"  Xo,  I  will  not  be  foolish  enough  to  struggle  against  my 
deep-rooted  love.  I  do  not  pardon,  Valentine;  1  forget;  1 
forget  all!" 

M.  Verduret  had  nothing  more  to  do  at  Vesinet. 

Without  taking  leave  of  the  banker,  he  quietly  left  the  room, 
and  jumping  into  his  cab,  ordered  the  driver  to  return  to  Paris, 
and  drive  to  the  Hotel  du  Louvre  as  rapidly  as  possible. 

Tlis  mind  was  filled  with  anxiety  about  Clameran.  He  knew 
that  Raoul  would  give  him  no  more  trouble;  the  young  rogue 
was  probably  taking  his  passage  for  some  foreign  land  at  that 
very  moment.  But  Clameran  should  not  escape  unpunished; 
and  how  this  punishment  could  be  brought  about  without 
compromising  Mme.  Fauvel,  was  a  problem  to  be  solved. 

M.  Verduret  thought  over  the  various  cases  similar  to  this, 
but  not  one  of  his  former  expedients  could  be  applied  to  the 
present  circumstances.  He  could  not  deliver  the  villain  over 
to  justice  without  involving  Mme.  Fauvel. 

After  long  thought,  he  decided  that  an  accusation  of  poison- 
ing must  come  from  Oloron.  He  would  go  there  and  work 
upon  "  public  opinion,"  so  that  to  satisfy  the  townspeople,  the 
authorities  would  order  a  post-mortem  examination  of  Gaston. 
Bat  this  mode  of  proceeding  required  time;  and  Clameran 
would  certainJy  escape  before  another  day  passed  over  im 


870  PILE  NO.  lis. 

head.  He  was  too  experienced  a  knave  to  remain  on  slippery 
ground,  now  that  his  eyes  were  open  to  the  danger  which 
menaced  him.  It  was  almost  dark  when  the  carriage  stopped 
in  front  of  the  Hotel  dii  Louvre.  M.  Verduret  noticed  a  crowd 
of  people  collected  together  in  groups,  eagerly  discussing  some 
exciting  event  which  seemed  to  have  just  taken  place. 
Although  the  policeman  attempted  to  disperse  the  crowd  b^ 
authoritatively  ordering  them  to  "  Move  on  I  move  ^ ,«  ;liey 
would  merely  separate  in  one  spot  to  join  a  more  clam.->,  jous 
group  a  few  yards  off. 

"What  has  happened?'*  demanded  M.  Verduret  of  a 
lounger  near  by. 

' '  The  strangest  thing  you  ever  heard  of, "  replied  the  man. 
"  Yes,  I  saw  him  with  my  own  eyes.  He  first  appeared  at 
that  seventh-story  window;  he  was  only  half -dressed.  Soma 
men  tried  to  seize  him;  but,  hasta!  with  the  agility  of  a 
squirrel,  he  jumped  out  upon  the  roof,  shrieking,  'Murder! 
murder!*  The  recklessness  of  his  conduct  led  me  to  suppose — " 

The  gossip  stopped  short  in  his  narrative,  very  much  sur- 
prised and  vexed;  his  questioner  had  vanished. 

"  If  it  should  be  Clameran!**  thought  M.  Verduret;  *'  if 
terror  has  deranged  that  brain,  so  capable  of  working  out  great 
crimes!  Fate  must  have  interposed — " 

While  thus  talking  to  himself,  he  elbowed  his  way  through 
the  crowded  court-yard  of  the  hotel. 

At  the  foot  of  the  staircase  he  found  M.  Fanferlot  and  three 
peculiar-looking  individuals  standing  together,  as  if  waiting 
for  some  one. 

"  Well,**  cried  M.  Verduret,  "  what  is  the  matter?'* 

With  laudable  emulation,  the  four  men  rushed  forward  to 
report  to  their  superior  oflBcer. 

*'  Patron,*'  they  all  began  at  once. 

*' Silence!**  said  the  fat  man  with  an  oath;  "one  at  a 
time.     Quick!  what  is  the  matter?** 

"  The  matter  is  this,  patron,**  said  Fanferlot  dejectedly. 
"  I  am  doomed  to  ill  luck.  You  see  how  it  is;  this  is  the  only 
chance  I  ever  had  of  working  out  a  beautiful  case,  and,  paf I 
my  criminal  must  go  and  fizzle!  A  regular  case  of  bank- 
ruptcy!** 

Then  it  is  Clameran  who — *' 

*'  Of  course  it  is.  When  the  rascal  saw  me  this  morning, 
he  scampered  off  like  a  hare.  You  should  have  seen  him 
run;  I  thought  he  would  never  stop  this  side  of  Ivry;  but  not 
at  all.  On  reaching  the  Boulevard  des  Ecoles,  a  sudden  idea 
eeemed  to  strike  him,  and  he  made  a  bee-line  for  his  hotel;  / 


FILE    NO.    113.  371 

suppose,  to  get  his  pile  of  money.  Directly  he  gets  here,  what 
does  he  see?  these  three  friends  of  mine.  The  sight  of  these 
gentlemen  had  the  effect  of  a  sunstroke  upon  him;  he  went 
raving  mad  on  the  spot.  The  idea  of  serving  me  such  a  low 
trick  at  the  very  moment  I  was  sure  of  success!" 

"  Where  is  he  now?'' 

**  A*-,  the  prefecture,  I  suppose.  Some  policeman  hand- 
cuffbi      1.1,  and  drove  off  with  him  in  a  cab.'* 

"  ^  joie  with  me.'' 

M.  Verduret  and  Fanerlot  found  Clameran  in  one  oi  the 
private  cells  reserved  for  dangerous  prisoners. 

He  had  on  a  strait- jacket,  and  was  struggling  violently 
against  three  men,  who  were  striving  to  hold  him,  while  a 
physician  tried  to  force  him  to  swallow  a  potion. 

''  Help!"  he  shrieked;  "  help,  for  God's  sake!  Do  you  not 
see  my  brother  coming  after  me?  Look!  he  wants  to  poison 
me!" 

M.  Verduret  took  the  physician  aside,  and  questioned  him 
about  the  maniac. 

"  The  wretched  man  is  in  a  hopeless  state,"  replied  the  doc- 
tor; "  this  species  of  insanity  is  incurable.  He  thinks  some  one 
is  trying  to  poison  him,  and  nothing  will  persuade  him  to  eat 
or  drink  anything;  and,  as  it  is  impossible  to  force  anything 
down  his  throat,  he  will  die  of  starvation,  after  having  suffered 
all  the  tortures  of  poison." 

M.  Verduret,  with  a  shudder,  turned  to  leave  the  prefect- 
ure, saying  to  Fanferlot: 

"  Madame  Fauvel  is  saved,  and  by  the  interposition  of  God, 
who  Has  himself  punished  Clameran!" 

*'  That  don't  help  me  in  the  least,"  grumbled  Fanferlot. 
*'  The  idea  of  all  my  trouble  and  labor  ending  in  this  flat,  quiet 
way!    I  seem  to  be  born  for  ill  luck!" 

"  Don't  take  your  blighted  hopes  of  glory  so  much  to 
heart,"  replied  M.  Verduret.  "It  is  a  melancholy  fact  for 
you  that  '  File  No.  113 '  will  never  leave  the  record-office; 
but  you  must  bear  your  disappointment  gracefully  and 
heroically.  1  will  console  you  by  sending  you  as  bearer  of  dis- 
patches to  a  friend  of  mine,  and  what  you  have  lost  in  lame 
will  be  gained  in  gold.  ■" 


CHAPTER  XX  7. 

FouE  days  had  passed  since  the  events  just  narrated,  when, 
one  morning,  M.  Lecoq — the  official  Lecoq,  who  resembled  the 
dignified  head  of  a  bureau— was  walking  up  and  down  his 

1 


873  FILE    NO.    113. 

prirate  office,  at  each  torn  nervously  looking  at  the  cloclc, 
which  slowly  ticked  on  the  mantel,  as  if  it  had  no  intention  of 
striking  any  sooner  than  usual,  to  gratify  the  man  so  anx' 
iously  watching  its  placid  face. 

At  last,  however,  the  clock  did  strike,  and  just  then  the 
faithful  Janouille  opened  the  door,  and  ushered  in  Mme 
Nina  and  Prosper  Bertomy. 

"Ah,**  said  M.  Lecoq,  "you  are  punctual;  lovers  are 
generally  so." 

"We  are  not  lovers,  monsieur,"  replied  Mme.  Gipsy. 
**  Monsieur  Verduret  gave  us  express  orders  to  meet  here  in 
your  office  this  morning,  and  we  have  obeyed. " 

"  Very  good,*'  said  the  celebrated  detective.  *'  Then  bo 
kind  enough  to  wait  a  few  minutes;  I  will  tell  him  you  ar» 
here. " 

During  the  quarter  of  an  hour  that  Nina  and  Prosper  re- 
mained alone  together,  they  did  not  exchange  a  word.  Finally 
a  door  opened,  and  M.  Verduret  appeared. 

Nina  and  Prosper  eagerly  started  toward  him;  but  ho 
checked  them  by  one  of  those  peculiar  looks  which  no  on© 
ever  d*ired  resist. 

"  You  have  come,'*  he  said,  severely,  "  to  hear  the  secret 
of  my  conduct.  I  have  promised,  and  will  keep  my  word, 
however  painful  it  may  be  to  my  feelings.  Listen,  then.  My 
fast  friend  is  a  loyal,  honest  man,  named  Caldas.  Eighteen 
months  ago  this  friend  was  the  happiest  of  men.  Infatnated 
by  a  woman,  he  lived  for  her  alone,  and,  fool  that  he  was, 
imagined  that  she  folt  the  same  love  for  him.** 

"  She  did!'*  cried  Gipsy;  "  yes,  she  always  loved  him.*' 

"  She  showed  her  love  in  a  peculiar  way.  She  loved  him  so 
much,  that  one  fine  day  she  left  him  and  ran  off  with  another 
man.  In  his  first  moments  of  despair,  Caldas  wished  to  kill 
himself.  Then  he  reflected  that  it  would  be  wiser  to  live  and 
avenge  himself.  ** 

"  And  then?'*  faltered  Prosper.- 

"  Then  Caldas  avenged  himself  in  his  own  way.  He  made 
the  woman  who  deserted  him  recognize  his  immense  superiority 
over  his  rival.  Weak,  timid,  and  helpless,  the  rival  was  dis- 
graced, and  falling  over  the  verge  of  a  precipice,  when  the 
powerful  hand  of  Caldas  reached  forth  and  saved  him.  You 
understand  all  now,  do  you  not?  The  woman  is  Nina;  the 
rival  is  yourself;  and  Caldas  is — " 

With  a  quick,  dexterous  movement,  he  threw  off  his  wig 
and  whiskers,  and  stood  before  them  the  real,  intelUgent, 
proud  Lecoq. 


PILE  KO.  113.  373 

"Caldas!*''cried  Nina.     ' 

"  No,  not  Caldas,  nor  Verduret  any  longer;  but  Lecoq,  the 
detective !'' 

M.  Lecoq  broke  the  stupefied  silence  of  his  listeners  by  say- 
ing to  Prosper: 

"It  is  not  to  me  alone  that  you  owe  your  salvation.  A 
noble  girl  confided  to  me  the  difficult  task  of  clearing  your 
reputation.  I  promised  her  that  Monsieur  Fauvel  should 
never  know  the  shameful  secrets  concerning  his  domestic  hap- 
piness. Your  letter  thwarted  all  my  plans,  and  made  it  im- 
possible for  me  to  keep  my  promise.  I  have  nothing  more  to 
say." 

He  turned  to  leave  the  room,  but  Nina  barred  his  exit. 

"  Caldas/'  she  murmured,  "  I  implore  you  to  have  pity  on 
me!  I  am  so  miserable!  Ah,  if  you  only  knew!  Be  forgiv- 
ing to  one  who  has  always  loved  you,  Caldas!    Listen.*' 

Prosper  departed  from  M.   Lecoq's  oflBce  alone.     On  the 
15th  of  last  month,  was  celebrated,  at  the  church  of  Notre 
Dame  de  Lorette,  the  marriage  of  M.  Prosper  Bertomy  and , 
Mile.  Madeleine  Fauvel. 

The  banking-house  is  still  in  the  Rue  de  Provence;  but  as 
M.  Fauvel  has  decided  to  retire  from  business,  and  live  in  the 
country,  the  name  of  the  firm  has  been  changed,  aiad  is  now; 

"  Prosper  Bertomy  &  Co,** 


IMR  SWDi 


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